Can you even HEAR me?
by Steady Silence
Summary: It's the 102nd Hunger Games. Panem is still under the rule of President Coin. Katniss is in charge of creating the games every year. The children who are reaped for the games, are descendants of old capitol citizens. When one tribute brings a journal into the arena, it falls into the hands of many other tributes. Each tribute is determined to leave their mark, and have a voice.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

**Hello Everyone! Thank you so much for clicking! It really does mean a lot to me.**

**First things first, let me state the obvious. I, Steady Silence, an author on this site.. Do not own the Hunger Games. They belong to their rightful owner, Suzanne Collins. **

**Okay, now that we've got that out of the way, I'd also like to say another sort of "disclaimer" if you can call it that.**  
**It's been awhile since I've read THG trilogy. I've been reviewing it, and re-reading parts of the books in preparation for this story, however, I am human, and it is possible that I might accidentally get something wrong. If I do get something wrong, I apologize. I can assure you, that it was purely on accident.**

**However, since this story is a fanfiction. I did add a few things of my own, into this story. I'll try to point them out to you, when I remember too, but I most likely will not. So, please be wary of that, before you automatically assume that I got some aspect of The Hunger Games series wrong. Thank you. **

**One last thing, before we begin. Here's a few "Just So You Know" notes, as I like to call them. A few things you should know, before you begin to read this story!**

**This story revolves around the 102nd Hunger Games. One hundred, and two. That's a pretty big number. Now, how did we get so high up in years, here? Well, continue reading, so that I may very quickly explain to you why.**

**What if Katniss didn't kill President Coin? And instead of abolishing the games altogether, Katniss and the other victors went on with their plan to continue having the Hunger games- but instead of reaping kids from the districts, they reaped kids from the capitol, and forced them to play in the games. They reap these kids according to many different factors. How many times your name is in the drawing cup, or whatever they call it, depends on many factors. It also should be noted, that the reaping is twelve days long, and that each day two tributes are drawn- a boy, and a girl. Since these kids aren't from districts, and won't have district partners. They have partners from what day they are drawn on. **

**Katniss is now 44 years old. If I did my math right, since Katniss was 17 at the end of Mockingjay (or at least I think she was), presuming she had kids around the time she was thirty. And I'm currently saying that her oldest child is 14. And if the last official hunger games that happened was the 75th hungers...idk how I did all that math. But I computed it a few times, just to double check, and I got 102 every time. So...this is the 102nd Hunger Games, and Katniss is like 44 right now. **

**By the way, if I totally did that math wrong, feel free to yell at me. I did calculate it rather late at night so...yeah. **

**Anyway, back on topic. It's the 102nd Hunger games! The children who are descendants of the citizens of the Capitol, are being reaped, and thrown into the Arena. Just like children from the twelve districts of Panem were for 74 years straight. (74, not 75, because the 75th Hunger games consisted of old victors as tributes, not new children from the districts...). Just like what the summary says, one of the tributes does bring a journal into the arena. And it finds it's way into the hands of other tributes, who also write in it. I know it seems kind of like an unlikely scenario But, how it works will be explained later on in the story- I promise. **

**This story is going to be told in multiple point of views, or perspectives- whatever you want to call it. It'll be told in third person, first person, journal entries, poems...whatever I feel like doing at the moment. **

**Anyway, I guess that's it! Thanks once again for clicking, and Happy Hunger Games!**

**May the odds be ever in your favor,**

**SS**

* * *

**Can you even hear me?**  
Prologue: Part One  
_Kallista Hollis: Dear Miss Katniss Everdeen: Introduction_

**The Government Of Panem, Storage Files.**  
**Category:** The Hunger Games  
**Games Number: **102nd  
**Current President At The Time Of The Games:** President Alma Coin  
**Head Of Games: **Katniss Everdeen  
**Tribute: ** Kallista Bailey Hollis, aged 15  
**Warning: **The file is open to government personnel only. Any unauthorized persons caught with this file, will be prosecuted.**  
****Translator's Note:  
**_This journal was the token of one of the fifteen-year-old tributes, who died in the 102nd Hunger Games. Due to one of the new rules, after the second rebellion, following President Coin, becoming president of Panem. It was decided that children from the Capitol would be reaped, for the Hunger Games, and that the tradition of the games would continue. _

_Kallista acquired this journal from her english teacher at school, during visiting hours, the day she was reaped. She was able to keep the Journal with her, throughout the games. Until her death. After her death, Kallista's journal was discovered by several other tributes, who continued writing in it. _

_Due to the rough environment of the arena, many words, and pages in Kallista's journal have become unreadable. However, with the help of District thirteen (The new capital city of Panem), these pages have been translated, to what it is estimated Kallista had originally written in her journal_

_The first entry is a so__rt of introduction. Kallista left the first page of her Journal blank when she received it. Her first actual entry, is on the next page. The entry on the first page- this is a historian's estimate-was written sometime when Kallista was in the arena- most likely hiding out. It serves as an introduction to the book. _

_It should also be noted that this was not only just a journal, but the book also contained several letters that Kallista wrote, primarily addressed to Katniss Everdeen. Letters, that Kallista expresses frequently, that she never planned on sending. But did hope that Katniss may "Get her hands on", and read some day._

_Kallista's journal is still both a mysterious, and fascinating artifact for historians today to analyze. _

_Without further ado, if you open the manila folder underneath this note, you will find the journal of Kallista Hollis. Deceased tribute, in the 102nd Hunger Games._

**This Journal Belongs to:** Kallista H.  
**If Found Please Return To:** My house, idiot.

Dear Miss Katniss Everdeen,

I know, that you will never, ever read this.  
In fact, I find it highly unlikely that you will even remember my name, a few days from now. That is, if you even know my name at all, right now. You've been at the top of the chain of command, in making so many Hunger games, happen by now. That, I sometimes wonder, weather or not you even remember any tributes names.  
Not that they matter, really. We're usually all dead, within a matter of weeks. One sole animal emerges from the arena, drenched upon his hands is the blood of twenty-three other children. Who will never, ever once be remembered again, as anything else other than "That one tribute who was stabbed in the throat.".

I know, that I probably only have a matter of days. I wouldn't even be surprised, if I had hours, or minutes, even mere seconds left. Who knows, someone could be hiding behind a bush right now, just ready to jump out at me, and take me out of this arena, and out of these games. But, I know, that I don't have all that much longer. I've surprised myself, really. I think I've surprised a good amount of people, actually. For lasting this long. And, I know that it's only because I've been getting lucky. I mean, I didn't intentionally try to earn a "one" for my training score! it just sort of happened. I'm really not all that good, at this whole "Surviving" thing. I haven't eaten in days. The only water I got was from a water bottle, somebody dropped while running, that I- once again, by luck- found.

But eventually, even I know, that my luck will run out. Sometime soon, I'll run into that dreadful moment, when I have a choice; Kill, or be killed. And, though I know which direction points towards survival, and which direction points towards death. I don't know if I can make the right decision. Interpret that, as you please. Because, not even I know what I mean by that.

The truth is Katniss, I am scared.

I'm scared every day. Because, what if today is my last day on this earth? What if, I never get to see my family, and friends again? What will happen to them, if I die here- on national TV- for them to see? If given the choice of survival, or taking someone else's life, would I pick my own over there's? Could I pick my own, above there's? And, if I do end up taking someone's life, how can I deal with the guilt? How can I live with myself, knowing that I, Kallista Bailey Hollis, killed somebody. Somebody just as innocent as I am.

And Katniss, I'm so sorry for flashing all those rhetorical questions by you. But, for a minute, I just thought that you might understand. But, of course, how foolish I was to think so. How dumb has this arena made me? I've at last dropped low enough, to resort to asking the only female victor of district twelve- who was in the Hunger games twice! If she understands, what I am going through in this arena?

Wow, I really must be going mad, aren't I?

The truth is Katniss, I just want to tell you something.

Weather this book ends up your hands, or anybody else's hands. In fact, I don't even care who's hands these little pieces of tear-soaked, blood-covered parchment lie in, anymore. I just want someone, somewhere, somehow to read this. And when they read this, I want them to know, only one thing.

That I, Kallista Bailey Hollis. Was not just some pawn in their games.

And that is because, I have a voice! I have pen, and paper. And you know what they say, Katniss? They say that the pen is mightier than the sword! And even if repeating that single mantra over, and over to myself, does not boost my confidence about being in the arena. Because, some days, I find it difficult to believe in such a phrase, while- literally- fighting for my life in this sheer little piece of space they call "The Hunger Games". But, then again Katniss- just please keep reading. Because, I have some important words to say to you. Just let me tell you this:

I have a pen, and a blank notebook.  
I have already recorded my entire journey up to this point. And I will continue to record it, should I keep on living.

Miss Katniss Everdeen, should you ever lay your hands on this book, I want you to listen to me right now.

My name is Kallista Bailey Hollis. I only recently turned fifteen-years-old, not that long ago. I'm pretty much average on the looks scale- not ugly at all, but I'm not any sort of breath-taking-ly beautiful model. I love reading, and writing. I have a little brother back home, who's would've only turned twelve recently. I live with both my parents. And I have a pet dog. She's a cocker spaniel, the name on her collar says "Honey". But, in all honestly, she doesn't respond to that name. She only responds to the name Bob.

I'm sure you don't care about my dog, who is informally named Bob. I bet you even care less about my family life, and the least of all, about my looks. I am only confessing this information to you, because I want you to know something.

I am a one-hundred-percent-real human being. I have feelings, I had hopes, and I had dreams.  
Notice my use of the word "had". As in I HAD dreams. Yes Katniss, I did have dreams before being forced into this arena. I'm a young, stupid, restless teenaged girl! There were things that I wanted to do with my life. And now, they've all come to an abrupt halt, because I've been forced, to carry out the dirty work of some unfair game.

The unfair game, that I have been forced into, to pay for my ancestor's mistakes.

I am not the capitol, that existed when you were in your teens. What those people did to you, and your family, and your friends, and all the Districts was wrong. It was extremely wrong. . And I am genuinely sorry that you had to experience that. But, I'm so tired of having to pay for the mistakes, that they made.

But, me? No, I am not them. I am ashames of what they did do. But, I am not them. I'm only just a child. A young girl, who only turned fifteen a few days ago. To be honest Katniss, I'm really not all that much older, than your oldest child.

Oh, and just so you know. I won't be silenced so easily. As I told you before, I have a paper, and pen, right now. Right here, in my lap. And I intend to use them.

Like I've recited, more than a few times before. Inside this journal, you will find what has happened to me during the Hunger Games. I've tried to write as neatly as possible (Hey, my handwriting is actually pretty good. Too bad they couldn't have counted nice penmanship into my training score...) so that- should this journal ever fall into your, or anybody else's hands- they are able to read it perfectly clearly.

Katniss, I hope you know that I am only recording this so that, I can prove something to you. Prove that I am not yours to play with. I am not a pawn, in your silly game for revenge. I am my own self, and I will never, ever be manipulated, or controlled.

Before, I end this breathtakingly long introduction, and leave you with this Journal. (Since calling it a "Diary" sounds way too lame...) Miss Katniss Everdeen, I would like to leave you with this one last thought.

Do you remember those- rather stupid- Q and A sessions that we tributes attended with all of the past victors? Do you remember the girl standing towards the back of the pack of anxious tributes, who's hand was only seen, because the tribute in front of her, bent down to tie their shoe? Yeah, um, that was me.  
Katniss, do you remember what I asked you that day? The day, that I saw you as a human- for the first time ever in all of my fifteen years?

I asked you about Primrose, and Rue.

And Katniss, long after I am gone- just another casualty of these unfair games, in which I am forced to partake. I want you to remember something.  
While reading this journal, I want you- and all of Panem- to remember Primrose, and Rue.

Because Primrose, and Rue, were humans- just like me. And Katniss, as hard as it is for me to wrap my mind around it sometimes, they were humans, just like you too.

And Katniss, I also know that they were two humans that you cared about very much. You know, despite how much I loathe you these days, for indirectly forcing me into this mess. Sometimes I remember your response to my question, at the Q, and A session. And I can't help but think to myself; You know? Katniss Everdeen, really did care for those two young girls.

And, so in conclusion. Katniss Everdeen, you are indeed human. You feel emotion. You think words, and thoughts, and phrases- just like me. And everybody else- all of Panem. You have dreams, and wishes, accomplishments, and some tings maybe you aren't so proud of. Above all, and before all else, you are human. Just like Rue, and Primrose.

And so, since you are human Katniss. I just want to ask you one last question, that not even I had the bravery to ask, during the Q, and A sessions.

And that is why. Katniss, why did you let these games begin, once again?

Much love and Happy reading,

Kallista Bailey Hollis  
The female tribute, from the 8th day of reaping.

* * *

**Prologue: Part Two**  
_Point Of View: Brogan Weeks: Final Thoughts Before The Countdown_

Some days, I don't even know why anymore.

I don't bother to stop, and think, because I can't. I don't bother to stop, and breathe, because I wouldn't be able to take a single breath. No matter how hard I tried to do so. And, I only know that because, every day, that I live from this day onward. Every day, is going to be overflowing with more, and more regrets.

I don't like regrets. Regret is one of the things that just make people weary. Regret sits like heavy stone, upon your conscious. Weighing it down, until you finf it hard to just "be". You have to make things right- you know you have too. But, the only problem is that you don't know how exactly TO make things right. You get trapped in this ever-going cycle, of what can I do, or not do to fix this problem. Until it suddenly just take sover your mind, and your entire conscoious being, and you begin walking around like this-this weird sort of sad zombie!

And, I don't want to live my life, as a walking, breathing zombie.

My blue eyes scan the horizon, and, I know that this is it. This is one of the last things, that I might ever see. And, for the first time in a long time, I can at last acknowledge how sad, I really am. I am sad, pathetic, terrified, and scared. Just so, so very frightened, and scared.  
One of the last things I will ever see, are the other tributes, standing on the platforms around me. The voice on the clock is female, and it's a voice I've heard far too many times before. This year, it is Katniss Everdeen- the mockingkay herself, administering the countdown. Numbers flash high above me in the sky- or is it really, even the sky? The arena is just a big blurb of force field, in the middle of who-knows-where. The gamemakers control the sky, the gamemakers control the weather. They control everything in the arena.

But can they control me?

The thought first comes as a silent, premotion, just a little whispering in the back of my mind. Just a spark of a thought, and a touch of rebellion. Yes, I have been controlled, and forced into these games, that I somehow must now play. But, the gamemakers can control the arena, and to some extent, the citizens of Panem, for without their feedback, the games wouldn't continue to be so "entertaining". But, what about me? Me, Brogan Vance Weeks.

Part of me, wants to call myself uncontrollable. An uncontrolled animal set free. Out of it's cage, it cannot be tamed. But, am I really that free?

Do I really have the right to call myself free, when I sit here on- what might as well be called my "Gravestone". Just waiting for the games to begin? If I'm so uncontrollable, then how could I have let the gamemakers force me into this arena. To receive penance for the sin, that my ancestors committed. Maybe it's just my paranoia, and fear. But it seems to me like the count down is ticking off faster now. And, I began to feel more aware, that these next few days, could very well be, the last few days of my life.

The last few days of my life, because I do not want to kill anyone.

The countdown numbers begin to lower.

Katniss calls out clearly: "Five."

This is it. It is time to make the choice. Kill, or be killed?

"...Four..."

Can I really kill someone? Watch the life leave their eyes, as they look at me, wondering why I must do this? Why did I have to pick them, to kill, maim, and murder.

"...Three..."

And what about their families back home? Could I deal with the fact, that I know somewhere, a family is grieving for the life of a child they lost?

"...Two..."

Make up your mind. Make up your mind. Do I stick with my morals, or do I choose to survive?  
If I'm going to die...why should I bring anyone else down with me? I have to be brave. Now's the time.

"...One..."

I don't want to kill anyone...I really don't...

"Ladies, and Gentlemen. The 102nd Hunger Games have begun."

And so, the bloodbath begins.

* * *

**Oh hey, the Author's talking again: Well guys...what do you think? I know, everything seems kind of vague right now. The "actual" story starts next chapter, this was just the Prologue. I promise that things will get a lot clearer in the next chapter. I was going to wait to publish this, until I had the next chapter done, so that it wouldn't seem so weird, and maybe make a tad bit more sense. But, I'm still working on the other chapter, so I just put this up anyway. xD **  
**Anyway, the next chapter will be up, real soon! And I promise things will make a lot more sense soon. **  
**Anyway, that's all I can think of at the moment...thanks for much for reading. And, I know you've read this on every fanfiction, you've probably read. But, it'd be totally epic, if you left me a review!**  
**Oh, and I swear I don't normally write such massive author notes, and I try not to let my chapters get this long...but, oops. **  
**Anyway, thanks so much for reading!**


	2. Jump Rope

**Chapter One:** Jump Rope

Point Of View: Lacey Snow: Waking up From A Nightmare 

_Pay your respect, dues, and fines,_  
_Get it all done in good time._  
_If you can't afford it- then don't whine..._  
_You'll just end up with boring jail time..._

The old jump rope rhyme rings though my head, as I take a few hesitant steps forward in line. I am among the smallest of the children. The children with their hair pulled back from their faces, as they grin with teeth that half of them lied to their parents about brushing that morning. The girls fortunate enough to own a few nice little trinkets, and things. Wear them around their necks, and in their hair. One of the rope spinner's has a bow in her hair. It is small, but beautiful. The red satin placed beside the bun her mother carefully sculpted with her fingers, hits the sun with a small glint. As she chants the little rhyming jump rope tune, again and again.

_Hello Mrs. President, with your braid spun tight,_  
_Sometimes my house gets cold at night,_  
_And I get too scared to turn out the lights._  
_The darkness gives me a bit of a fright._

I can't help but be slightly jealous of the older child's bow. My mother worked hard on arranging my curls, but they still stick out at each other in awkward directions. We don't have enough money for things like satin hair bows. We need our money for food. But, thankfully my six-year-old mind, is not too focused on physical beauty yet in life. I am still fixated on the jump rope. The words of the chant, repeat murmurs of things that I can't yet understand. But, I don't really care. All I do care about is taking my turn at the jump rope. I turned six today, and I am finally old enough to play the jump rope game with the big kids. Antsy excitment energizes me, as I suddenly realize that there are only two more people in line before me. It is almost my turn.

_Hello day light, hello fear,_  
_Has it really been another year?_  
_Since I wept my last tear?_  
_Mrs. President, is that your voice I hear?_

It's not just the jump rope spinners chanting the chant anymore. The other kids in line join their voices into the song, and chant it too. I feel myself wanting to join them, but I don't know the chant as well as the other kids do. So, I just stay silent and grin. Maybe one day I can learn the jump roping chant. Maybe one day, I can be a rope spinner- just like the girl with the red bow in her hair. That would be a lot of fun. Getting to spin the jump rope for everyone. The number of people in front of me is dying down, and at last the girl in front of me goes. When her verse of the jump rope chant is over, it will be my turn. And I will get to play the jump rope game with all the big kids.

_Isn't this kind of lame?_  
_The way you've made me play your games?_  
_And yet you still call out my name._  
_Because I'm just a player in your games._

It is my turn. The girl in front of me has finished her verse. One of the rope spinners- the one without the red bow in her hair calls out to me. With a grin on her face, she encourages me forward: "C'mon Lacey! You're up!" I take a few hesitant steps towards the jump rope. Nervous-ness, and excitement brewing in my chest, as I realize that at last I am old enough to play the jump rope game with the big kids. I continue walking towards the jump rope.

But, I never make it.

Because the whack-whack-whacking of the jump rope on the pavement has stopped. All of us kids, are suddenly scared into silence. We stand still, and refuse to move a muscle.

The Mockingjay man states down hard at us. His stare is cold enough to make me wish I was wearing a jacket. Within the pupils of his big blue eyes, you can see that he greatly disapproves of what we were doing. A small hurricane of rage spins over his face. It changes his features, so that they express symptoms of anger.

With his eyes, he looks down at every single one of us. He eyes are like lasers, as his gaze scares us into silence. When his eyes glance over at me. I find my own eyes shutting. If I can't see him, then maybe he can't see me? Despite my logic, I feel his eyes glare at me anyway. The anger ridden within them makes me only want to squeeze my own eyes more tightly shut. This man scares me. Just like all the Mockingjay men, and women do.

I don't like the Mockingjay women, and men. They are scary. They have always scared me, and I think that they always will continue to scare me, no matter how old I grow. They scared everyone. After the rebellion, the Capitol's system of Peace keepers were abolished. And were replaced with something the new Government called: "Mockingjay Men/Women". They enforce the rules around here. Everyone is scared of them. They scare of us into following their rules. They know we are afraid of them, and they use that power against us. So that we fear the rules so much, we avoid breaking them. Because breaking them would mean that we have to be punished by the Mockingjay men, and women. And nobody likes that.

The odd thing is this; Why is the Mockingjay man even here? We're not doing anything bad. We're just a bunch of kids having fun playing jump rope. And last I checked, playing jump rope was not against any of the rules.

"What's going on here?" He demands.

For once, the little crowd of children is silent. None of us make a sound. We don't have an answer to his question. We don't know what exactly is "going on here". We were only just playing jump rope, and having fun.

But despite our silence, he still wants an answer. It's written on his face. He won't leave us alone until we give him an answer.

"We're playing jump rope. Would you like to have a go?" The girl with the satin red bow in her hair, says to the man. She takes several steps forward, and politely holds the jump rope out to him. Her brown eyes are full of innocence, as she looks up at the Mockingjay Man. But, her face is not sweet. For, it bears an expression that I- a young six-year-old- cannot understand. Her face is dripping with a sort of raging emotion, mixed with sarcasm, and a little bit of fear. Her gaze is rebellious in nature, but is also gentle, and child-like.

The man scoffs at her, and knocks the jump rope out of her hands. When it finally reaches the ground, nobody is brave enough to pick it up. The Mockingjay man seems to take a closer look at the face of the girl with the red bow in her hair, before he says to her: "Hey, aren't you supposed to be at the reaping?"

The next part happens to fast, that sometimes I have trouble remembering it. The girl with the red bow in her hair, suddenly tried to run. But, I guess she must not of been very fast because suddenly the Mockingjay man, has grabbed a hold of her. She is screaming, and kicking, and crying. She is begging for him to release her. But he only keeps on dragging her away.

Suddenly, she stops her begging, and starts to scream something. Just one single word. It takes me a second to realize that it is my name that she is screaming. But, why is she screaming my name? She doesn't even know my name. I only just saw her for the first time today.

"Lacey! Lacey! C'mon Lacey, wake up! We're going to be late. "

I am jolted out of my dream, by the sound of my mother's voice. Rubbing my eyes, I slowly sit up. The girl with the red bow wasn't yelling my name. It was only the sound of my mother's voice trying to wake me up. When I assure her that I am fully awake, she at last leaves my room to get breakfast ready.

Why did I dream about the last day, I saw kids playing with a jump rope in this city? What was so important about the day I turned six, that every year I still have nightmares about it? Why do I even ask myself dumb questions like this, when I only know/care about the answers, to only about half of them.

I dreamed about the day I turned six, because I am turning twelve today. My birthday falls on the same day as the reaping does, every year. I can't help but remember the girl with the red bow in her hair, as I trudge off to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and take a shower.

When I get there, I lock the bathroom door. Turning on the shower head, I stick my hand underneath the water to feel the temperature. It's ice cold, just like it is almost every day. The government won't even let us have hot water, on reaping day. The one day out of the whole year, that all the kids have to get all showered, and polished up. They don't even bother to give us hot water.

Ah, oh well. It's not like I'm not used to it or anything, by now. A cold shower is normal for me. I know that I should just be thankful that my family has running water. But, sometimes I do feel a little but jealous of the district kids. They have warm running water in their showers every day.

As I decide to wait for a few moments, for hot water that I know will never come. I can't help but glance at myself in the mirror. Today, I am twelve-years-old. I am one whole year older than I was yesterday. But, you can't even tell by looking at me. For, I look the same as I always do. My curly blonde hair sticks out in too many different angles. My face is full of freckles that only multiply in the summer time.

I don't look older. And I don't feel older. I only just feel afraid.

But, afraid of what? The reaping? I can't be scared of that, can I? My mother told me that I shouldn't be scared come reaping day. She promised that there was absolutely no way I'd get reaped. My name's only in the reaping bowl one time. She told me not to worry about it at all.

Despite her assurances, the logical part of my brain somehow still always finds ways to remind me that despite what my mother says, there is still a chance that I could get reaped to be in The Hunger Games. This part of my brain decided to remind me last night, while I was dreaming, That it is possible that I could be reaped in the Hunger Games.

The two parts of my thoughts often fight with each other in my mind. Is there a chance that I could be reaped to be in the Hunger Games? Should I be scared, and worried? Or should I just listen to the words my Mother always tells me. That there is absolutely zero chance my name would get drawn. That I won't be picked to be in the games.

The two thoughts tangle, and fight in my mind. Until at last I finally put an end to them. I can outsmart my own brain, if I try hard enough. I can choose to blindly believe what my mother tells me. I can choose to blatantly ignore all logic that says "You-have-an-extra-big-chance-of-being-reaped-into -the-hunger-games". I can choose to ignore all logic, and just continue living my childhood. Free from worry, and fear.

And that is the choice I make.

I firmly believe my mother. And I will make sure anyone who disagrees with what she has told me, knows that they are wrong. There is no way. zero, chance, no possible way ever. That I, Lacey Kathleen Snow. Will ever be entered into the Hunger Games.

As I accept this to be my fate. I give up on waiting for hot water, and peel my pajamas off of my body. Quickly washing my hair, as I stand under the ice cold water. I can't help but wonder for a moment.

Was this how Cassandra Johnson started her day? A cold shower, because her house has no hot water. Was this how she started her day, six years ago when she was reaped to be in the games? The year she was reaped, she was twelve-years-old. The same age as me.

She barely lasted five minutes in the arena. I heard, that after her death. The Game makers didn't even bother trying to return the red hair bow, home to her grieving family. They just threw it away, like the piece of junk that it was considered to be in the games. They tossed her little satin red hair bow away, just like how they threw away every jump rope in town.

That's why it's illegal for us to play jump rope games, nowadays.

* * *

**And there ya have it! If something seemed kind of vague/unexplained in this chapter, I'm really sorry! Everything will be explained/revealed soon enough. **  
**There is a reason why Lacey has a pretty high chance of being forced to compete in the Hunger Games. Well, multiple reasons, actually. xD (One of them is really, really obvious., and I'm sure most of you have realized it...if you haven't then take a peek at her last name. )**  
**But all those reasons will be revealed really soon!**

**And yes, Lacey is just sort of ignoring logic, and living with her head in the clouds...she lives a very, very sheltered life, and hates it whenever anything in it feels sort of "Off-balance". **

**Thanks for reading! **


	3. Whisper

**Chapter Two: **Whisper  
Point Of View: Lacey Snow: Walking To The Reaping

My Mom, Matilda, and I are squished as we walk upon the sidewalk.

The first day of reaping, and the last six days of reaping are always the crowded ones. Not that I would know from experience. For, since I am twelve today, this is my first reaping. But, I live close to the town square. And every year, I see all these hundreds of kids crammed into this tiny town square. Almost every kid, from this side of the city is forced to report to one of our city squares on reaping day/ And there are hundreds of thousands of people crammed into this city.

Everyone in this city is required to live here because we are all descendants of people who used to live in the capitol, back before the second rebellion.

Our city has roughly the same amount of people, as three districts combined. There is a small part of the city- the part that I live in, that is reserved for those of us who are descended from capitol citizens who used to work in the government.

I guess, it would of been more polite of me to warn you about this sooner. Since it's kind of important, or so my mother tells me so. But I am related to the old President of Panem. The most horrible, evil man in our of all history. His name is-was- President Snow.

And me? I'm Lacey Snow. The Grandchild of one of his cousins.

The reaping of the Games is always divided up into twelve days. And on each day, two kids are reaped. The first five days are the days that the kids in my little, cut-off reserved section of town are reaped. The Second Rebellion wanted to punish the future generations of people who were descended from people who worked in Panem's old government. To remind us of what our ancestors did. So on the first five days of the reaping, they reap kids who were related to be who used to work in the old Panem Government.

This is how the schedule goes. I only know it because, we once had to memorize it for an assignment in school. But, even if I didn't have to memorize it for school, I'd still probably know it anyway. It's kind of hard not to pick up on the schedule eventually:

Day One (This is today, this day also always falls on my birthday...):  
- One of the Tributes will be a descendant of President Snow's. Their gender does not matter. The other tribute will be whatever gender the descendant of President Snow is not, and will just be some random kid who is somehow related to someone who worked in the old government of Panem. Cassandra Johnathon, who was the grandchild of some random Peacekeeper's sister, was reaped on this day six years ago. The boy tribute, was a fifteen-year-old, who was apparently related to me somehow, but how exactly I don't know.

Day Two:  
- On this day, a male tribute, and a female tribute who are somehow related to some of the game makers of the old games will be reaped.

Day Three:  
- A male, and female tribute who are somehow related to the trainers in the old Hunger Games, will be reaped.

Day Four:  
- The descendants of Peacekeepers are reaped on this day. Obviously one of the reaped kids is a boy, and the other is female.

Day Five:  
- A random female, and male who are just somehow related to someone who worked in the government, or was a part of the games are reaped.

Days Six- Twelve:  
- Any child who is related to any person who used to live in the capitol is reaped on these days. Obviously they reap two kids- a boy, and a girl each day.

I am eligible to be reaped on days one through five. Though, I have my highest chance of getting reaped on day one. Because, that day is when they have a special reaping bowl out, with all the children who are somehow related to me in it.

I guess it's kind of sad to say. But, I know hardly any of them. I'm not even sure how most of them are related to me. But since they were somehow related to President Snow-even if it's a very distant relationship like mine. They get forced into this mess as well.

But despite how many people there all, that could be reaped instead of me. I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't scared.

In fact I'm terrified. Maybe that was why I had that nightmare last night? Because of how scared for this day, I felt. But, my mother assures me not to worry. She says that I shouldn't waste my time worrying about getting reaped, because I'm not going too. When I asked her how she knew this, she told me that it was because the odds are in my favor. She says that the odds are technically in everybody's favor, if you really think about it. There are so many names in that bowl, that even if you have multiple entries, your chance of getting picked is still just really small.

My neighbor, Matilda. Who is somehow distantly related to me. Scoffs when she hears my mother talking. Matilda is sixteen, a whole four years older than me. Her hair is a dark shade of inky black. Sleek straight strands of it, fall over her shoulders, as my mother and I turn around to face her.

"Got any words of advice you'd like to share with Lacey?" My mother questions her, throwing Matilda a disapproving look. My mother's eyes silently beg Matilda not to say anything to get me all worried. Usually my mother, and Matilda get along fine. Why today of all day's they're silently glaring t each other, I'm not sure. But, I don't like the daggers that they send at each other with their eyes. So, I tentatively squeeze myself between them. I look up at both of them when I speak.

"Moms says I'm not gonna get picked Matilda, she says that you won't either. " I tell her. I really do expect Matilda to smile. I expect her face to morph into a real smile, and for her shoulders to relax. But relief doesn't dance across her face. Instead, annoyance does. I really, truly didn't expect Matilda to roll her eyes at me.

"Cmon Lacey. Get your head out of the clouds. There aren't that many of us left. And by 'us' I mean those of us who have the misfortune of being related to President Snow. They have a special reaping bowl just for us. One of us is forced to go into that arena every year. It could be you, it could be me. I can't just relax- who knows what could happen? Something bad could happen to you, or I." She says, suddenly just ranting.

Her words shock me for a moment. Matilda. My best friend, just told me to get my head out of the clouds? Maybe Matilda has a point, I'll give her that much. But I vehemently flat out refuse to believe anyone's words by my mother's. They are the only words I want to believe and hear right now.

My mother does not look pleased at Matilda's words.  
It took her awhile to console me of my fear, and she doesn't want Matilda to mess it all up. She doesn't want me to feel afraid.

However, Matilda and my Mo aren't cross at each other for all that long. Because Matilda whispers something to my Mom, and I, that makes my Mom and I stop and just hug her- right there in the middle of the crowded side walk.

"I'm sorry Lacey...I didn't mean to scare you." She whispers, then even more quietly adds. "Your Mom's a good woman...you're luck that you have her here with you at your first reaping. I wish mine could've been there." My mother whispers something in Matilda's ears that I don't hear. But whatever it is makes Matilda hug us both tighter for a moment.

Matilda's Mom died a year before Matilda's first reaping. Her father works from the hours of the early morning, all the way until it's late at night. So, he's never been able to walk with her to the reapings. My Mom has always walked her there, and back. I used to wave to them outside the window of our house, as they walked to the town square. But this year, since I am twelve. I join my Mother, and Matilda, on their trek to the town square on reaping day.

After several minutes of talking later, Matilda, Mom, and I all reach the town square. My Mom goes to sit with the other parents, while Matilda and I sign in. After we are signed in we enter the town square. We stand for a minute before we go to our respectable age groups. We face one another, in the open air of the twin square.

"Hey, Matilda?" I tentatively ask her.

She responds by brushing a lock glossy lock, of ink-y black hair over her shoulder, as she says: "What?"

"Did you really mean what you said back there..." I ask her quietly, I look down at my shoes on the pavement for a second. And Matilda squats down so that she's right at my height. "About...how there aren't all that many of us left. And that you, or I could actually be reaped this year?"

Matilda stares at me for a moment. The gravity of my words are sinking down into her mind. Her eyes give away to the fact that she is carefully piecing her response together before she actually says it. This isn't some silly game of jump rope. Ten-year-old Matilda, and Twelve-year-old Cassandra aren't chanting nursery rhymes as they spin a jump rope back and forth. There are no laughing singing children. Just a giant mass of noisy kids, all waiting for the reaping to begin.

And for the first time ever, I am part of that giant mass of noisy kids.

More specifically so, I am one of the children in this mass of many, that has one of the most highest chances of being reaped today.

"No, I didn't." She says to me suddenly. "I was just messing with your Mom. Your Mom's a smart woman, Lacey. What she said is right. You're not going to be reaped today, or any day. " She says to me quietly, then suddenly dropping her voice to an even quieter whisper. She whispers something to me in my ear.

"To the Government, you're just a little name on a slip of paper. Just one single, itty bitty, little slip of paper. And that slip of paper is not going to be drawn today." She tells me. Now finished whispering in my ear, she draws me into a hug. Maybe I never noticed it all that much until now, but Matilda is the closest thing that I've ever had to a big sister.

"Since we're not going to be reaped, does that mean we can get ice cream after the reaping today?" I ask her. She stands up, and grins. "I don't see why not. We might have to talk your Mom into it though. See you later, after the reaping birthday girl!" She says, giving me one last final squeeze, she heads off to the section reserved for sixteen-year-old girls. While I go find my section; the twelve-year-old girl section.

Part of me wants to think that both Matilda, and my Mom were lying to me. The rational part of my brain wants to remind me that I do have a higher chance of being reaped compared to most of the other girls my age. But, I don't want to believe in that part of my brain. If I can just ignore those thoughts, and pretend that they don't exist maybe they will all just go away.

And with all the lies washed out of my ears, and gone. All that's left is the truth. It's the truth because I choose to believe it, so that means that it must be true.

I take those rational thoughts, and I make them become irrational. I replace them with thoughts of my own. Positive, happy, care-free, safe thoughts that I'd much rather have swimming around in my head. Than those annoying, negative, unhappy,not-nice thoughts:_ I am not going to be reaped for the 102nd Hunger Games. That thought is just silly. There are plenty of other people that are more likely to be reaped than me. My name is just a name, on a singular little slip of paper. The odds are in my favor. And after all this, Matilda, and I are going to get Ice cream._

Today is my twelfth birthday. Nothing bad is going to happen to me.

* * *

**I struggle with writing in first person sometimes. Which is why a lot of-but not all- of this story is being written in first person. I'm trying to improve on it. So, yeah I swear my writing isn't usually this crappy. But this chapter kind of turned out out be mildly crappy...but oh well. xD c:**

**I hope a few more things got explained here. If anything is kind of confusing, please tell me in a review, so that I can hopefully clear things up! :D**

**Thank you so much for reading!**


	4. Mathematics

**Chapter Three: ** Mathematics

Point Of View: Collin Heart: Thoughts after The Reaping

Up until today, I thought I had a future.

I thought I had a future in Mathematics, and logic. I wanted to teach the children of this city how to properly do math. I wanted to bring hope to this city of people, who just walk through their daily lives as if they feel nothing.

This city is like a city of zombies. The adults are unfeeling, and roam the streets like lost souls, just looking for some form of feeling. They walk as if they are in a daze. Their eyes are dead, and their mood is aimless, and impatient. They argue among each other, and blame it on the fact that they are just: "Trying to get by". Muttering an only half-true apology, they then continue walking on, as if the encounter with a stranger never really happened.

The men walk from place to place. The once callow smiles from their boyhood have since danced away from their lips. The unfeeling expression of numbness, now reminds them that their childhood abandoned them long ago. The unfeeling men roam the city streets, and walls. Looking for something. Something that will remind them how to feel emotion, once again. They want to know how to start caring about things, and feel whole again. They tither about like lost soul, who've since forgotten what the purpose of their life truly was

The women of this city, try, try, and try again. But, they just can't make the baby stop crying. They alone cannot fix the fact that their child is flunking out of school. Because of their poor grades. When they find that they are unable, to serve enough food upon their family table. They put on a fake smile, and sing their children lies. They tell them never to cry. "Be strong!" they say, "Get along!" they cry. The women feel bad when they lie to their children, but they feel as if there is no other way. They swallow these lies, and feel them rolling around in their empty stomachs, as they feed their children broken pieces of bread. Bread that is filled with the broken promises, and lies, that the women know they cannot keep.

But, my mother never lied to me.

She flat out refused to become like the other adults in this city. My Mother didn't haunt, nor search upon the streets at night. She refused to become like one of the stalking zombies. Though yes, my mother did want a lot more from this life. She refused to make herself cry while looking for it. Instead, she'd paint a beautiful smile upon her face. And remind me that right now, was the time to stop crying. She'd tell me: "Collin, there's a world the hallowed out walls of this city. And that world's bigger than this city. It's so, so, so much bigger. There's more to this life than just our little house, which is forced to lie in between these dusty walls." She'd whisper that to me when I was a child, lying my head down on my pillow to go to sleep.

My father, he also clung to his emotions, and held on tight. He refused to become like one of the zombie-people. Searching throughout the night, for just some kind of feeling, that they've forgotten how to use.

My father refused to become one of the Zombies. He was never a roaming man. Whenever all three of us were home- him, my mother, and me. He'd always make sure that the three of us all say down together for dinner. Even if we had little to no food, he always insisted that we all just sit together, and talk. He always said that talking, and just being with one another was what kept families together. He'd always add at the end: "Even in the most Difficult Of Difficult times."

But, my family is not together anymore.

My parents haven't spoken to each other since I was twelve. Since that fateful day six years ago, they have become like the zombies.

My mother is a crying woman. Who is frustrated, and angry. My father is a roaming man, who walks across the edges of town, getting into fights with strangers. My parents are zombies. They haunt, and roam the whirling city streets at just looking, and waiting for something more. Some sort of long-forgotten feeling. that could make them feel some sort of emotion. Some sort of non-negative emotion.

But their efforts are yet wasted. For there is nothing in this dried up land anymore. The happiest fruits have since gone rotten. And the field workers have sucked this place up dry, and clean long ago.

Sometimes I blame it all on myself. Everything that happened to wreck this family. A year or so ago, I finally just got sick of the silence and told my parents everything. My father cried, and my mother's face twisted itself up into this sad expression that just made me want to cry.

They told me that it wasn't my fault that their marriage was ruined. They told me again, and again. That they were sorry. And I told them that I was sorry too, even though I didn't know what they told me that I had never done anything wrong. That I have nothing to be sorry for.

But, for some reason I still want to make everything right.  
I want to fix my family, and I want to fix this old town.

I study hard every day. I do math in my head during work, and chores. I pay attention in school. And once I get out of all this school, I want to talk to the Government. I want to beg them to let me teach the children of this town. More specifically I want to teach the middle school. I want to be the first teacher this town has seen, that is not a part of the Government.

I like math because every problem has a solution. And if every math problem, has a solution. Then maybe every problem in this city has one too. I want to fix this city. I want to cure the zombies that walk the street at night, and I want to motivate it's children to be something more than just "those kids that could get reaped".

Every problem in math has a solution. And maybe the problems in this town have one too? I wanted to know weather or not, they could be solved. And if I, perhaps could help to solve them?

But, now I know that I will never get that chance.

Because, my name is Collin Zane Heart. I'm eighteen-years-old. And live in Panem's center city. I live in this little special part of the city, reserved for those of us who had ancestors who were part of the old Hunger Games, or were in the old Government.

And today, I just got reaped to play in The Hunger Games.

My heart is not beating. My mind is not thinking. I am listening to the escort, but I can hear her. I am speaking, but no words come out. I am a living, breathing, thinking, speaking, feeling Zombie.

The escort forces me to shake hands with the tribute drawn before me. This year, it is a female. She is somehow related to the old President Snow. She is twelve-years-old, and has long curly blonde hair. Her name is Lacey. There are tears running down her cheeks. As we shake hands.

As I am being rushed away, by the escort. I take one last look at the sea of Zombies beneath me. For just a second, they come alive. As they frantically stare at us, as we walk away. They feel, they breathe. And for a minute do they feel...sorrow for us? Is sorrow a feeling that a Zombie is capable of knowing?

I guess I'll never know that either. Because, in a flash they go back to being Zombies. I am led away, into an automobile. That Automobile will take twelve-year-old Lacey, and I away to the Justice building. Our families and friends will be given rides there. And that is where we will say good-bye to them.

Good-bye to them, and the town of Zombies.


	5. Being Brave

**Chapter Four:** Being Brave  
Day Two: Reaping

* * *

**Chapter Four:** Being Brave : Part One  
Point Of View: Daffodil Crane : Thoughts During The Reaping

Every night, before I go to bed. I watch the sunset from my window.

The brilliant colors have never failed to amaze me. As they blend in, and around each other. The light of the sun set outlines the city scape in front of me, as I stare out the window of my apartment. The buildings are all the same shade of black. While behind them the sunset shines it's own shades of brilliant colors. Golden yellow, juicy orange, and calming shades of fire-y red, and purple. The sunset soothes me. It helps me to relax, at the end of a long day. The familiarity of it, makes me feel safe. And when I feel safe, I can at last feel at home with myself.

Home.

Home?

Home. Home. Home. When was the last time I actually used that work properly. This ragged little apartment complex doesn't feel like home. It hasn't in a long time. Not since that fateful day last year. When everything in my life just turned upside down.

Last year on this day, many things happened. My mother, she lost her job. Her job didn't pay a whole lot- but it paid enough so that we could have decent food on the table every night. It also gave us the money to pay our rent, with little to no worries. My mother has been in, and out of jobs for awhile now. It's so hard to find work in Panem City. Whenever she finds a job, and manages to hold on to it for awhile, our life is good. We get into the routine of being comfortable with this. Adjusting our lifestyle, so that it can fit with the amount to money we have. But, as soon as we adjust, and get comfortable with this idea of at last having some amount of money. (Even if it is small), she loses her job. And once again, we need to start over.

But, my mother losing her job, was not the only thing that happened on that day- exactly one year ago from today. That managed to shatter my life into a million tiny pieces. Only to be stepped on, and squished by the crushing world of reality that is spreading all around me.

No, that was the day that they led him on stage. His strides were even, and his chin was held high. He looked so, so strong. As he stood upon the stage, and stared out at the crowd of children's faces. Some of the last friendly faces that he would ever see.

My brother, Seam Crane. Was reaped last year, and was forced to play in The Hunger Games. He made it- all the way up until the fifth day. Sometime around noon on the first day, the girl he'd made an alliance with, tricked him into eating some poisonous berries. He died almost instantly.

My brother, he was amazing.

He was always so strong, and resilient. He didn't let anything ever knock him down. But, if- by chance- something did knock him down. He'd just jump right back up, and scream "I'm okay!" to the world. He was a boy without worries. He tried his best in everything he did, and he always had a strange knack for seeing the best in everyone. Even when they had problems seeing it for themselves.

I remember the day that he was reaped. Almost as if were yesterday. The escort for day two, had just finished calling the female tribute's name- Cynthia Fort- a tall thirteen-year-old girl, who died during the first day of the Games. The escort waited several seconds before calling out the next name. I couldn't believe my ears, as I listen to her utter all two syllables of his name. And when she did, I suddenly couldn't take it anymore. I remember sprinting- sprinting as fast as I could up to the front of my age group.

No...not Seam. Anybody, but Seam. Take anyone in this city. I don't care who the heck you take- you could even take me if you wanted too. But please, please, please- don't take Seam.

I remember screaming his name. I was fighting to get out of the crowd of fifteen-year-old girls who were consuming me. They parted the way, to let me pass. And when I at last finally broke away from their circle, I immediately grabbed Seam's elbow. We embraced, and I whispered something to him, and he whispered something to me. But, what he said I'll never know because the next thing I knew, we were bring ripped away from each other.

Those horrid men in uniform brought him on stage. He didn't cry. He didn't shout. No, he kept it together, and he stayed strong. He looked so brave, standing up there. He was staying strong for Mom, and me.

Even though he was being strong on the outside, I knew that on the inside he was afraid. I could see it in his eyes. I know my brother better than anybody else, and I knew that he was afraid. But, he wouldn't show it. He wasn't going to break down in front of those cameras. He wanted to make a statement, and he wanted to be heard. He wanted to prove to Katniss Everdeen, that he was not hers to keep!

He was brave, he was strong. Seam proved that he was not a force to be reckoned with.

But, I am not my brother.

I can't keep it together, and I can't stay strong.

Our escort has just read off my name. And I am standing with her on stage. I find my mother's face in the crowd. She is crying. Tears roll down her face, as one of the women of our city that she considers to be her friend, comforts her. Just seeing her cry, makes tears well up in my eyes. I love my mother. She has done so much for me, and for Seam. She raised us, as a single parent. And stayed strong even after my father's death. I don't want to see her cry.

My Mother is an extremely gifted woman. She is intelligent, and smart. Most people do not know that. They don't expect a poor, jobless, widowed woman to be as smart as my Mom is. But, my Mom proves people wrong like that a lot.

My mother knew that there aren't that many people left, who are related to the old game makers of the Hunger Games. She knew that it was very possible that either Seam, or I could be reaped. So, she gave Seam, and I both names that had a meaning.

My mother named me Daffodil. Daffodil Twelve Crane.

Katniss Everdeen - Panem's most musical Mockingjay- is the head game maker in the games. She controls the Arena, and what goes on inside of it. My mother named me Daffodil, because it's the name of a flower. Katniss's little sister, Primrose died at the age of thirteen. And her name shared the same name as a flower. So, my mother named me the name of a flower, thinking that if I did get reaped, maybe Katniss would go easy on me. My middle name, came from the name of Katniss's home district. Just another thing to tempt Katniss's favor with me. The Seam was where Katniss, Prim, and her mother all grew up. So my Mother named my brother Seam, in honor of that.

The only thing that my mother didn't get to choose for me was my last name. My last name is one of the reasons why I've somehow l have gotten myself stuck in this mess. Seneca Crane is my grandfather- from my father's side. My father died before I was born. My Mother hardly ever talks about him. I don't know how he died, my Mother still won't tell me. She says that she'll tell me, when she feels that I am ready to know. I wish that I could know, but I don't pester my mother about this. My mother gets sad when talking about my father. Though she acts like it doesn't bug her, you can see that it really does bug her. You can see it in her eyes.

You can actually tell what anybody's thinking, just by looking at their eyes. My mother taught me that when I was little. Like I said earlier, my Mother is a fairly smart woman. She is intelligent, organized, and strategic. She likes the feeling of being prepared, and constantly plans ahead. Since it's just been us in the house for this past year. She's taught me how she does it all- her planning that is. My mother and I have become so organized. We plan our weekends in advance. We make ourselves schedules. We are organized, and prepared. This over-preparedness grants us the privilage of having a peaceful mind. Even when life gets hectic.

Yet, we didn't plan for this.

My name is Daffodil Twelve Crane. I am sixteen years old. And I just got reaped to be in the 102nd Hunger Games.

* * *

**Chapter Four:** Being Brave: Part Two  
**Point Of View:** Christoph Troy: Thoughts During The Reaping

I don't like being told I'm wrong. Because, I always think that I'm right. Perhaps that's the reason why I just suddenly gave up on school, when I was about eleven, or so. I didn't like drop out, or anything. Dropping out of school, is against the rules of this city. And my parents would probably murder me, if I ever so much as whispered the phrase "dropping out". No, what I mean by "Gave up", is that I sort of just well...gave up. I quit trying. I was never the best student academically. My grade's were pretty average, for the most part. They weren't like, really bad or anything. But, they also weren't like, super extraordinary, or anything like that either.

I wanted to be one of the smartest kids in my class. I thought that that would get me more respect. And if I was respected, I could be, well more liked. And if more people liked me, then I could get some friends. And if I had friends, then I'd never, ever, ever have to eat lunch alone ever again.

I wish I could tell you, that my plan to become smarter did work. And now, not only am I some prodigal, scholarly genius of a child. I'm also drowning in this sea of friends that I have. But, of course, life didn't exactly work out that way.

No matter how hard I tried to make school "my thing". It just wasn't happening for me. All too often, I fell asleep while studying, I got too confused when drilling myself on math problems. And pretty much every teacher in the school hated me. Or, at least it felt like that. Maybe they didn't actually hate me, as much as they hated the questions I asked in class. You see, in better hopes of impressing my class mates. I'd ask the teachers the most freakishly logical sounding questions in class. I thought that it'd be the perfect way to finally get people to respect me a little bit more. But, of course, it didn't work. In fact, if anything this plan almost always, just back fired in my face. Instead of asking the teachers some sort of intelligent sounding question, and getting some intelligent sounding response. I usually was just told that what I was asking made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

Once I finally came to terms with the fact, that maybe Academics just weren't my thing. I tried to look for something else to be the "best" at. I tried out for various sports teams. Maybe I could win over a few people to be friends with, if I could impress them with my athletic abilities? But, this plan also backfired on me. Because, I never actually made any of those sports teams I tried out for. Frustrated, and embarrassed, I realized that maybe sports just weren't my thing either.

This pattern of trying to be the best of everything continued. I tried everything- various clubs, and instruments. But nothing ever worked. I was still just some average kid, who was constantly being taunted by his classmates, by his utter lack of talent.

Frustrated, and annoyed. One day, I stumbled across it. One of the older gyms in town. It wasn't quite as popular as the other ones, but, I walked into it anyways. I had only walked in there to quickly get something from the vending machine. I was thirsty, and had a little bit of money left over from school that day. As I was opening a bottle of water, I suddenly saw it.

There was a girl, probably somewhere in her mid-twenties. She was throwing something. Something long...it kept sticking in this target when it landed. Suddenly I looked closer, and I found out what she was doing. She was practicing throwing, and fighting with spears. It looked so interesting. I talked to the manager of the gym, and he let me try a few of the easier spears for free. He said that he didn't get people in here often asking about them. He showed me a few basic moves that I could do with the spear. He said that he'd be happy to give me some lessons. When I told him that I didn't have a lot of money. He told me that he'd be happy to give me lessons, if I did some work at the gym for him. Like cleaning the locker rooms.

I agreed to the deal. That was when I was eleven, and since then I have been working with spears. I know how to make them, and how to fight with them. The other kids at school- they tease me about it sometimes. They call me a "Wannabe Tribute", or even a "Career". Whenever I try to tell them that I don't support the games- I'm just like them. I don't want to be reaped. I just learn about spears for fun. They just laugh. One very bold girl even told me that I was "Mrs. Everdeen's little lap dog." But, she got in trouble with the school for saying that.

But, ever since this morning, her words are suddenly true.

I am here, on stage standing here with our escort, and the other tribute. A female girl, with long yellow hair, and dark green eyes. She is not someone who will be tough to beat in the arena.

Even if I never considered myself to be a career until now. I realize that I suddenly am one.  
I have a drive to win. I will prove myself to the people of this town, that I am not a joke. I don't care how many people I have to kill to do it. But I will win the Hunger Games, and come back home.

My name is Christoph Maverick Troy, and I am eighteen years old. Today, I got selected to play in this year's Hunger Games. I am strong, and brave. I work good with a spear, and can even make my own spear. This year I will win the Hunger Games. And I will prove everyone back home wrong.

Just watch me.


	6. Pocket, and Wrist Watches

**Chapter Five:** Pocket, and Wrist Watches  
Point Of View: No one in particular...: Braelynne Stare, and Phineas Leary walking to the reaping

"Oi! Move over!" A slightly annoyed voice called out. The sounds of someone being shoved lightly, followed the vocalization of the threat. However, the speaker's satisfaction did not last for long, for immediately another voice retorted: "No, YOU move over!" Little gestures like this thrummed throughout the humble little yellow kitchen. It twas yet a common occurrence, that happened every morning.

"I was here first!" A child's male voice said. It was then quickly retorted by, yet another: "No, I was! Let me have it- it's mine!" Until at last a third, and final line was said. And just the tone of the speaker altogether, was enough to make the two squabbling children, jump out of the way, and quit bickering: "I'm older than both of you! It's mine now, so shove it, and quick whining."

This was how the humble little yellow kitchen worked, most mornings. Especially on mornings, when the whole entire house had to be awake, and up. . Though most children seemed to have a million different places to be, with their busy schedules nowadays. The boys who lived in the Orphanage, that this humble little yellow kitchen belonged too. Did not usually have extremely busy schedules.

Just like any other children, the kids went to school. They played on sports teams at school, made friends, and some of them even did clubs. But, they didn't do them at a school, with all the other children of the town, who weren't orphans. They went to a school, that was within their home for orphans. Many of the boys, and girls did not like this at all. They reported feeling isolated, and cut off from some of the other children their age. Other orphan children, said that they preferred to stay in the school in the orphanage, because that was where their friends were, and they felt at home there. It all just depended on the individual orphan's opinion.

If you were to poll the children at the home for orphans, on really anything. Ask them any sort of question, and they'd probably be happy to answer you. They loved stating their opinion, and telling other people about their opinion. Mainly because, nobody often really asked, the orphan children of Panem, what their opinion was on very many things.

On this particular morning, while the humble little yellow kitchen was bursting with boys, ages fourteen, through eighteen. One of the newest occupants of the building- for he had only just turned fourteen, and had been moved from the ten through thirteen age group dorm, into this new dorm. This newcomer twas quite tall for his age, and had curly hair. His curly hair typically sat atop his head, and refused to tame itself.

The incomer surveyed the kitchen, looking around to see if there was any way, he could fight through the chaos, and get some breakfast. Taking in his surroundings, he looked at the crowd around him. Perhaps if he snuck in through there...no, one of the older boys had already claimed the closest breakfast item to that spot. Perhaps if he pushed his way through that area, or...? No, no, no...

About to just give up on the breakfast idea altogether, the tall child at last spotted it. A break in the crowd. A single space of counter, that no people were crowded around. And what was on the counter? A single roll of bread, not yet devoured by somebody else. Phineas began to make a beeline for the counter. He was almost there- almost-

"Hey Phineas,"

A cold voice spoke out from behind him. The tall dark haired young boy, turned around to face the contender. It was one of the older children. Phineas looked at the older child, knowing what was coming next. "Yeah, Ed?" Phineas asked the eighteen-year-old.

"I think I saw that first." He said smugly, referring to the roll of bread that Phineas had been aiming for. Even though Phineas really wanted to say something along the lines of: "This breakfast is for all of us, we'd all have plenty of food, if we shared it. Besides, I think I saw it before you did." But, he did not say that. It would only cause trouble. Instead, he stepped aside, and watched as the older boy took his breakfast.

"Thanks kid." Ed called out, as he took a bite out of the fluffy bread. "Oh, and happy hunger games!"

"Yeah, you too..." Phineas muttered under his breath. Deciding just to ditch the whole idea of eating breakfast, Phineas began to make his way outside, with some of the other kids, so that he could get to the reaping on time. Phineas began to walk to the front of the Orphanage. Passing some of the other dorms. The orphans weren't allowed to walk to the town square where the reaping took place on their own. So, Phineas had talked to a friend the night before, and they were going to meet up to walk together.

"Yo Phineas!" A familiar female voice called out, as he neared the town's center. Phineas grinned, and jogged over to where the voice came from. Upon greeting his friend- actually, his best friend, the two children called each other siblings, even though they were not actually related. The two children were extremely close friends, and both probably had wished that they had siblings at some point in their lives. So, they just called each other siblings. Jogging over the where the speaking female was standing, Phineas greeted his companion, with a smile. "Happy Hunger Games!" He told her

Grinning that spunky smile, Phineas knew all too well. Braelynne then replied: "You too. And may the odds be ever in your favor." She said, whilst playfully shoving him backwards. The two giggled for a few brief moments, before Phineas smiled, and motioned for Braelynne to follow him to the square. The two children walked side-by-side, as they headed towards the city square.

"So, today's really the day, ain't it?" Braelynne said, her short red hair billowed out around her shoulders, softly in the breeze. Placing her hand above her eyebrows, in order to block the sun from entering her eyes too harshly. She said: "Reaping day Three- that's our day Phineas."

"Day three's not our only day. According to the rules, we could be reaped on day one, or day five as well..." Phineas replied, as he pushed a few stray locks of hair away from his eyes. "On day one, one of the kids who is reaped has to be somehow related to President Snow. The other kid is whatever gender the first kid's not, and can be a child who is related to anyone who played a role in the old Panem's government, or is related to one of the descendants of one of the people who made the old games before the second rebellion-" Phineas began, but was suddenly cut off by Braelynne.

"Skip forward to day three. On day three, the two kids reaped will be somehow related to one of the trainers in the old Hunger Games. And then on day five-" Braelynne said, letting Phineas cut her off, because she already knew that he was going to finish her sentence. She knew him far too well.

"And then on day five, the two tributes reaped on that day just have to somehow be related to either an old governmental figure, or someone who did something with the games before the second rebellion..." Phineas finished.

"Well, we certainly know our reaping day trivia. I mean, it's not like we don't study it in school every year, or anything." Braelynne said, a tone of sarcasm ebbing it's way into her voice, at the last part. Laughing a bit, Phineas playfully shoved Braelynne off the sidewalk.

As the two children got closer to the town square, their conversations halted. Even though the two children weren't necessarily saying anything bad about the games, they did make a small sarcastic comment about them. And if any of the Mockingjay men, or women heard them...well, there was a chance that the two of them could get in trouble. So, the two children stopped their talking. They stayed silent as they passed through the line, and signed in. Once through the sign in area, the two children walked into the city square, and faced each other momentarily. The two stayed quiet for a moment, before at last Phineas broke the silence: "So...should we do it now for the sake of tradition?"

"Yeah, I guess now's a better time than never." Braelynne agreed. As she, and Phineas, both each suddenly took a small box out of their bags. Handing Phineas her gift first, Braelynne presented it to him, whilst saying: "Happy Hunger Games, Phineas."

Neither child had a lot of money. They each had small amounts of money, from doing different small tasks around town. But, that was really it. But, starting last year- the first year that Braelynne had been eligible to be in the reaping- the two children had decided to start getting each other gifts on reaping day. In Capitol City, it was usually just the wealthy kids, who gave each other gifts. But, Braelynne, and Phineas didn't see why that tradition should be limited by wealth. So, they began to do it on their own time. Starting with each other.

"Yeah, you too...Happy Hunger Games Braelynne." Phineas told his female companion, as he motioned for her to open his gift first.

As, Braelynne slowly opened the small little box, Phineas felt as if he had some sort of explaining to do. He didn't exactly know why he was explaining this, but this sort of explaining just happened quite a bit when people gave one another gifts. So, Phineas began to somewhat explain the circumstances, under which the gift was retained. To the recipient of the gift, who twas his best friend Braelynne.

"I was walking by the dump the other day, and I saw this thing just shining on top of one of the piles. So, I hopped the fence, and found it...it was kind of beat up, so I went to talk to that one guy- Jerry. The guy who lives across the street from the Orphanage. Yeah, I asked him if he could fix it up. ANd he said he would if I helped him mop his floors for awhile- his knee's been hurting him again. So, I told him that I would, and he fixed it up." Phineas explained, as he watched his friend smile. She pulled the instrument out of the package.

"Dude, this is so cool!" Braelynne exclaimed. As she held up a small, antique pocket watch. "You found this in the trash? Wow! Why would somebody want to throw this away...it's so beautiful." Braelynne said, admiring the small instrument. She turned it over several times in her hands, letting her finger tips run over the smooth surface of the little clock. "Wow...thanks Phineas, this thing's really surreal...it's too bad that I don't have any pockets to put it in. I hate this stupid uniform they make us wear when a large amount of us are outside the orphanage for awhile..." Braelynne said, referring to the skirt that she had to wear. Braelynne hated skirts with all her being. Suddenly realizing a way to work around this problem, Braelynne took the chain of the pocket watch, and put it around her neck. The metal area of the watch, inwhich the clock was held, lay nicely against her shirt- just under neath her chest. Braelynne had a a fairly small, and somewhat dainty seeming build, for a girl of thirteen. It wasn't unusual for her to be mistaken for someone, slightly younger than her age.

Since Phineas was done presenting her, with his reaping gift to her. Braelynne felt the need, to present hers, to him. Taking the cue that it twas yet time for him to open his box. Braelynne began to speak of an explanation for her gift to Phineas- just as Phineas had given one to her.

"So, I was walking around the flea market, last weekend..." Any child over the age of ten was allowed to leave the orphanage, if so desired. As long as they didn't stay out too late, and they weren't alone, and they went to an approved location. The flea market was actually not one of these "Approved Locations", but that didn't stop Braelynne from going to it every week, just to see what cool things people brought out. "And this one guy was going to sell it for parts. I ask him if I could have it all in one piece- not just for the parts, and he said that I could have it- no charge. He said that he didn't think it was gonna work anymore." Braelynne explained, as Phineas pulled a watch out of the box. It was a small, but handsome little thing. The wristband twas made of leather. Braelynne who had acquired a gift of working with mechanics, sometime over the years. Had fixed up the little contraption so that it ran again. "Sometimes one of the hands moves a little too slow...but, I think it still reads time okay..." Braelynne said to Phineas, apologizing for the small error in her engineering.

"I don't care, I think it's perfect. It looks pretty swell on me- don't ya think?" Phineas said, holding up his wrist for inspection. Braelynne rolled her eyes, and gave Phineas a playful little shove.

"I think it's time we got to our age groups." Braelynne confessed to Phineas. Phineas agreed. The two thanked each other one final time, before bidding each other adieu, and making their way over to their age groups. To Braelynne, she went to stand in a sea of thirteen-year-old girls. And Phineas went to stand among the other fourteen-year-old boys.

* * *

**Braelynne, and Phineas both got each other something to do with telling the time...**

**Anyway, that's the end of the chapter. Day three reaping, will take place in the next chapter! :D**

**I know that you've probably read this on every single story you've ever read. But please, please, please review! If you do, I'll love you forever if you do. :D ****  
**


	7. Superstition

**Like I said last chapter, here is the reaping for day three! This chapter is told in different points of view! Don't hesitate to leave me a review. I promise that I don't bite...hard. xD JK :D  
**

Chapter Six: Superstition: Part One  
Point Of View: Phineas Leary : Thoughts During The Reaping

This crowd of children, reminds me of a zoo.

We push, and shove against one another. We stalk through the crowds, like starving wild animals, waiting to pounce, We are competitive among one another, to get the best spot in the crowd. So that we can see the reaping. We want a good view, we want to stand by our friends, we want to be able to hear Effie Trinket talking. Some of the bigger kids in my age group, push some of the smaller ones older. Even if we are all the same age in this little crowd of children, we still pick on the smaller ones. It's times like this, that I'm glad about how tall I am for my age.

A few minutes later, the pushing, and shoving dies down. Where you stand now in the crowd, is probably will you will be forced to stay during the reaping. We grow quiet, and still. As suddenly Effie trinket does her ceremonial little dance across the stage. All the while she's gasping out: "Happy Hunger Games!" And looks at us pointedly; just begging us- the crowd- to join her in her clapping. However, we don't clap, we never do. It's hard to clap, and be joyful about something that you know will only result in the death of twenty-three people. One of those people, that could potentially be you. However yet, Effie Trinket is still an optimistic woman. She claps on all the twelve days of the reaping, every single year. She is still hoping that some day, some person will share the same enthusiasm that she, and the people of the districts share about the games.

Effie is not the same person, that she was before the second rebellion. She used to be the escort for district twelve, in the old Hunger Games. Now, even in her old age. Effie has not lost her energy, or spunk. She still moves across the stage, like a dancer about to perform. With that smile upon the face, that she shows the cameras every year. Her stage presence sky rockets, as she gives the camera such a smile that suggest she is hiding something from them. Some fun sort of, extra special material. That is a secret. A secret that she knows the camera would just love it if she shared it with them. The crowd loves Effie because of this.

But, while her enthusiasm still remains constant, and the same. Effie is also not the same happy, excited, cheerful escort that she used to be in the old Hunger games. No, she is so much more than that now.

She plays an even bigger role, in The Hunger Games every year. Every year. she hobbles on stage and draws the name of every tribute. She is present all twelve days of the reaping. She helps Katniss with the organization in the games. She keeps everything up to date, and organized. Katniss even once said in an interview, that without Effie, the games would probably fall apart into some sort of unorganized mess.

Effie goes through the list of required announcements. Most of them are all about the history of the Hunger Games, and how they cam to be. Effie Trinkets talks about the second rebellion, and how the games were re-established about the second rebellion. And why now all these descendants of the people used to live in the capitol are being reaped to participate in the Hunger Games. When she's done gushing about the history of the games, she suddenly gestures to a small family, standing towards the back of the stage. A family consisting of two parents, each of opposite genders. And two children as well. The older child is female. She has long dark hair, and that cascades over her shoulders in long dark straight layers. Her eyes are a bright blue reminiscent of the sky. She seems to be around the same age as me. The boy, is obviously her younger brother, and is probably younger than her by a few years. His hair is a light blonde. His bangs fall into his eyes, so he pushed them away. His eyes are a dark color. Effie introduces the family. The parents are Katniss, and Peeta. Their children are fourteen, and twelve years of age this year. They wave the the crowd, before going back to where they were standing by the back of the stage. After addressing them, the crowd re-directs it's attention to Effie. Who is now ready to draw the first tribute name for today's reaping for the Hunger Games.

Effie takes slow steps towards the reaping bowl. Her slow stride is annoying me. I wish she'd just hurry up, and get this disgusting event over with. Nobody here likes the suspense, and fear that Effie is brewing within the crowd. I feel the crowd tense around me. I'm not the only one who is mentally begging Effie Trinket to hurry up ,

Effie is now at the reaping bowl, about to stick her hand into the big crystal orb of fate-filled name slips. When she suddenly just stops. Pausing for a moment, instead of reaching into the big glass bowl and drawing out a name. She grins at the camera. And suddenly declares: "Let's change this up a bit, shall we?"

In response to her proclamation, the crowd just gives her a bunch of blank, confused, and nervous faces. What is there to change about the reaping for the Hunger Games? It's been the same old reaping ever since the games started back up again after the second rebellion. What is there to change? Why would we be changing something now?

Effie takes her hand, and motions to where Katniss, and Peeta's children are standing at the back of the stage. The two young offspring look up at their parents. Confusing etching across their young faces, as they silently as their parents for permission. Granting their children the needed silent permission, the two victors nod, and silently gesture for their children to go stand by Effie at the reaping bowl. When they join her, she leans down the best she can, so that she can be at their height as she speaks to them.

"Do you guys know what the word 'Superstition' means?" She asks them, both of the children nod their heads. And Effie eagerly offers the microphone to the female child: "Superstition; it means weather, or not you believe in luck- like having good, and bad luck- like how things impact them- and I don't know it's kind of hard to explain-" The young girl says, as she tries hard to think up a good explanation. Efiie nods at her, signalling to the child that her explanation was just fine.

"No, that's okay sweetheart. You're fine, and you're right superstition does have to do with good, and bad luck." Effie says to her. Both children look at her with looks of awe mixed with a slight weariness, and excitement.

"Ever since the games first began- even before the second rebellion; the female tribute has always been drawn before the male tribute. I don't know weather or not this will...evoke any feelings of superstition, but what do you two think about maybe doing something different today. Just for fun...let's draw the male tribute before we draw the female tribute!" She says to the kids, who nod along with her. They seem to like the idea, doing something else just for fun. Besides, neither of them have ever drawn the tribute name slips out of the reaping bowl before. It's always been Effie.

Effie leads the two children over to the male reaping bowl. Gesturing for the twelve-year-old boy to stick his hand into the bowl, she lets him fish his hands around the the bowl. Letting him pick which slip is to be drawn.

The people of the district must be loving this. A new twist on the reaping- even if it is just for today. Plus Katniss, and Peeta's kids get to draw the tribute slips today! The districts are probably going nuts over this. Without looking at the name slip, the young twelve-year-old boy tries to hold the paper out to Effie. Who shakes her head, and leads him, and his sister over to the microphone. As she adjusts the voice amplification device to his height, she whispers some instructions in his ear.

The boy's voice is still teeming with the innocence of a child's as he unfolds the paper. He isn't all that much younger than I am. He's twelve, and I only really recently turned fourteen. So, there really isn't a huge age gap between us. Despite his young sounding voice, as he reads out the name of the male tribute, his voice takes on a new level of maturity, and responsibility. Slowly, he says the name of a male child. A child between the ages of twelve, and eighteen. The single name is bellowed out, and I can't help but wonder if Katniss, and Peeta's son really understands the gravity of what he is doing. I wonder if he knows, that the boy's whose name on that paper, that he is reading out loud right now, will never the same again.

There were a lot of things, that I expected to happen today. Right now, it's summer. So, I expected it to be hot outside. Braelynne and I always walk to the reaping together, and we talked about it last night. So, I expected to walk to the reaping with Braelynne this morning. Braelynne and I decided to start giving each other gifts every reaping, ever since last year. So, I expected to give Braelynne a gift today, and also expected to get one from her.

But, today something happened that I didn't expect.

I didn't expect to hear my name called out during the reaping. I didn't expect to become a tribute, in this year's Hunger Games.

* * *

Chapter Six: Superstition: Part Two  
Point Of View: Braelynne Stare : Thoughts During The Reaping

No, no, no.

This isn't happening.

It's not happening, because it can't be happening. It's just not possible- not right.

Phineas's name cannot get drawn during the reaping. It absolutely cannot.

Phineas cannot leave me here, to go, and fight to the death against twenty-three other children. He absolutely cannot. I need him here. Here with me in this dark, and desolute town that nothing ever happens in. This place has fallen prey to the darkness which tortures us within. The clouds are dark, and the sun doesn't shine here. All there is is anger, and pain.

Phineas has never been angry. He doesn't like to inflict pain on others. He is a child who can light up your day, with only just his smile. This town needs him because of his optimism, and truth.

I just need Phineas beside. He cannot go into the arena.  
I need him beside me as we still through the shopping part of our town. We press out noses against the store windows, as we openly admire little trinkets and things that we will never, ever have the money to buy. I need Phineas in the evening, after supper while I do my math homework. He's extremely smart, and math is his best subject. He helps me with all the difficult problems. I need Phineas with me in the day time. So that during school, I don't get bored. Because, Phineas and I pass notes secretly under our desks. I need Phineas with me wherever we go. So that when I walk around the town at night, I can tell the towns people that they are wrong. I can tell them that I so much more than just one of those "Poor little orphan kids".

Because, when Phineas is with me, I am no longer just an orphan. Phineas is my brother. Even if we're not related by blood, he is still my bother. Phineas is my best friend, and is the only family I've ever had. I need him.

I need my brother so much more than Katniss Everdeen needs him. Heck, Katniss doesn't even need my brother! Can't she find some other kid to play in her games? Can't Effie just tell Katniss's son, to stick his hand right back in that bowl, and draw out another name? She doesn't need my brother, specifically. There are a lot more boys who are between the ages of twelve, and eighteen that are related to some of the old trainers in the Hunger Games! Why can't one of them play in Katniss's games? Why can't they just choose someone else?

Why is this happening? Why? Why? WHY?  
I can't help but remember what Effie said about superstition. But, I am not superstitious. I'm only just being selfish. Anyone would be distraught if they're family member, loved one, friend, etc. Was pulled. Just because I want them to do a re-draw doesn't make me any less special, or unlucky. Everyone who has ever had anyone they cared about drawn for these games feels this way.

But, I do not care if I am being selfish. I just don't want my brother- the only family that I have- to be entered into the Hunger Games.

Katniss can have anyone she wants. There are plenty of kids she can choose from. There are plenty of boys aged twelve through eighteen who are related to the older trainers of the old Hunger Games. She can any single one of them to play in her Hunger Games! In fact, I don't care who she picks! As long as she doesn't pick Phineas. She can take anybody she wants- just not Phineas. Phineas is mine. Katniss cannot have him. She can't. She can't. She can't.

But Effie can.

As if to enforce this, Effie entices him on to the stage calling out: "Come on up- don't be shy!" As the mockingjay men, and women pull on his elbows and begin to lead him out of the crowd, and towards the stage. Where many people who are important parts of the game stand, and watch. Closest to the front of the stage, Effie still stands. Holding the shoulders of Katniss, and Peeta's two offspring. The two children stare at us- the capitol kids. In a few days, I will be fourteen, so Katniss's daughter and I are around the same age. There are plenty of kids around both of their ages, standing in this audience. I can't help but wonder what they think about us as they look around at us in the crowd. Do they feel bad for us, knowing that at least two of us here will most likely be dead in only a matter of weeks? Do they feel superior compared to us? Because, they live in the districts, and they are the children of the two people in charge of the game, they don't have to be entered into the reaping for the Hunger Games. I don't know what they are thinking. And, I guess that I'll never know. .

The crowd is thick, and dense with too many bodies that are all crowded into one small space. There are too many people here. Way too many people here. And they are all in my way. My hands moves without me controlling them. My legs suddenly develop a mind of their own, and start to run without me asking them too. I can feel myself frantically shoving, and pushing people out of the way, whilst running through the crowd. All the while someone's started screaming. But who's screaming? Realizing that my own voice is suddenly feeling hoarse, I realize that it is me. "Phineas! Phineas! NO! Phineas come back! You-you-you can't-can't-you can't have him! You can't...NO!"

The front of the crowd draws near me, and before I know it I'm breaking out of it. Out of the massive crowds of people, and out into the free open space reserved for when the Mockingjay men, and women walk the tributes to the stage. I'm here, and I'm standing, free and still. Like a caged animal released from it's confinement. I am wild, and untamed. I am untainted, and pure. Uncontrollable, and fierce. Now nobody can touch, nobody can confine , this feeling of pure bliss, and freedom does not last long for me. For suddenly, strong arms grab me from behind, and I am being lifted up into the air. When that happens, I become like a child again. Strong hands hold me still, as I start kicking and screaming: "No! No! No!" I am once again like a child, having a tantrum. Because, I didn't get my way.

I didn't get my way. I didn't get my way because I want him back. I want them to give Phineas back to me. And I want them to do it now.

Finally making his walk near me, he is still carefully guarded by the mockingjay men, and women. The mockingjay man who is holding me in the air, dangles me out in front of him. His arms are long, and strong. So my swinging arms, and legs do not reach me. He is so much stronger, and bigger than I am. He has me in a strong grasp, and I cannot escape his confinement. It is like I am an animal, put back into a cage. Struggling to break free, so I can once again taste the blissful flavor of freedom.

When Phineas passes by me, my struggle grows. But, as he passes me, he whispers something. I can barely hear his voice, but I can still hear him. His voice is calm, and soft. Even in his most fearful moments, Phineas is strong. He is being strong for me. Even though I am supposed to try and be strong for him now. He is still being strong for me.

"Braelynne, it's okay." He whispers as he passes me. "It's okay, I'm okay."

That's all he says, as he passes by me, and leaves me. Walking on to the stage, to be greeted by Effie. Effie who will make him speak his name, and age out loud into the microphone. Before taking the fate of another child's life upon herself, as she will eventually have to draw the next tribute slip.

The Mockingjay man who is hold me, swings me over his shoulder as if I am weightless. I want to fight back at him. I want to swing my fist as hard as I can, and pound them against his back. But, I cannot move. Not even a muscle. I have no energy left. I have wasted it all. And even without energy, I am still mad at myself. I replay Phineas's last words over, and over again in my head to myself. And because of them, I am left without energy. I am weightless, a mere sack of nothing, strewn over the back of this mockingjay man.

Because, this is not okay. It's not okay. I am not okay. Nothing will ever be okay ever again.

* * *

Chapter Six: Superstition: Part Three  
Point Of View: No One In Particular : Female Tribute is Drawn

The crowd of gathered children went silent, as the fourteen-year-old male tribute made his way up on to the stage. Within the humid summer air, a sort of resting still-ness had taken place. It twas the sort of still-ness that always took place, after something massive had just happened. Something that was big, and powerful, and would ultimately just change the way that things were done.

The response that the crowd had uttered, when the male tribute had been drawn, was now dying down. The energy of the place was falling, and becoming subdued. The crowd acted as if they were mere animals, retreating from a kill. The excitement twas now momentarily over. And it was break time. Soon, there'd be more excitement. But, for now the group of young teens would sit in terrified, silent anticipation, for what was soon to come. The drawing of the female tribute.

Taking the hand, of Katniss, and Peeta's daughter, Effie led the dark haired girl over to the female reaping bowl. Upon her face twas a new found sense of surprise, and glory. As the young teenager plunged her hand into the large glass bowl, and pulled out a single little slip of paper. With Effie, and her little brother in tow. The young dark haired girl led her way over to the microphone, and spoke with a very calm, and collected sounding voice.

"Lindsey Sapling." She called out. Her eyes searching the crowd, to see who would come forward.

The crowd shifted around a fifteen-year-old girl, who had brilliant blue eyes. And long locks of curly black hair parading down her back. Adorning her face were a pair of dark emerald green glasses. Lindsey walked forward, despite the stone cold feeling of fear seeping into her young step. You could read it upon her troubled face. Her pure blue eyes which had only been filled with things such as laughter, and innocence, mere moments ago. Had since been tainted with fear, and dread.

However, despite her fear, the crowd could not help but admire Lindsey. Despite the look of fear upon her face, she walked with an air of pure bravery in her step. She refused to let the mockingjay men, and women prod her with their hands. She refused to let them control the way she walked. She carried herself with pride. It was quite clear to the audience- in the crowd, and everyone else who was watching that on their televisions- that Lindsey was trying to be brave.

But, no matter how brave young, fifteen-year-old Lindsey Sapling was trying to be. Not even she could have predicted what was to happen next.

For Lindsey wasn't expecting anybody to volunteer for her. She did not expect to hear the words: "I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE." Screamed at all.

* * *

Chapter Six: Superstition: Part Four  
Point Of View: Braelynne Stare: Volunteering herself into the Hunger Games

I don't know what made me do it.

It was a split second decision. I didn't give myself anytime to think about it. Let alone to think. I acted out on a whim, and just went with my gut instinct. This gut instinct of mine, is what I find controls me on my weakest days. I know that I have a problem with acting, without thinking. And this- this thing...this thing that I just did, only sought yet to prove that I act without thinking.

What did I just do?

As the mockingjay men, and women come to drag me away. Part of me is confused. What exactly did I just do? I just volunteered myself to play in the Hunger Games. I volunteered in place for a girl I hardly even know. I volunteered, in place of fifteen-year-old Lindsey Sapling.

Lindsey and I aren't exactly like, best friends or anything. I don't think I could even refer to her as one of my "good" friends. We're friendly with each other. Whenever Phineas, and I are out taking walks at night, and we see Lindsey working in the window of her father's diner. We stop in for a minute, or two and chat. But, that's really it. Lindsey is fairly sweet, I guess. She's one of the few kids who actually talks to us orphan kids, without teasing us about our lack of parents. But, if I hadn't had underlying motives for volunteering. Then, I don't think I ever would have volunteered in place of her. I mean, I like Lindsey and all. And I would have been sad if she was reaped. But, it's not Lindsey that I'm worried about in these games.

It's Phineas.

It was a mad decison of mine. Maybe I'm even going insane? If I'm not insane right now, then I surely will be before this day is over.

But, the most crazy of crazy ideas, just suddenly entered my mind, while Katniss, and Peet'a daughter called out Lindsey Sapling's name. I suddenly made a split second decision. I acted upon that stupid idea of mine. I just suddenly realized that this- all of this- is real. It's really happening.

I just suddenly realized that Phineas really could die in the Hunger Games. Every year, twenty three children die. The odds really are never in your favor.

Phineas is my rock. He is my base, my best friend, my companion, my brother. I thought that if I got myself into the arena I could protect him. I could make his chances of winning even higher. Even if it meant that I was potentially sacrificing myself in the process.

I want Phineas to win. I want him to live. I want him to go on, and live a long, happy life. He is my brother, and I feel like I must protect him. So, that is what I am going to do. I'm going to go into these stupid Hunger Games, and protect him. Oh, Phineas... he is going to be so angry with me. But, I don't care. I have to protect him.

Even if I do want to protect my brother. I am still scared. I'm scared, and terrified of everything that is to come. I can't help the few lone tears that somehow squeeze themselves out of my eye balls, and find their way down my cheeks.

My name is Braelynne Jolie Stare. I'm thirteen-years-old, and I'm an orphan. My brother is Phineas, he's fourteen. We're not really related, but we call each other brother, and sister. And both of us are playing in the one hundred, and second hunger games..

**And there we go! Day three reaping is now complete! Up next is reaping day four!  
Oh, and I know that you probably have read this on every single story you've eve read. But please review! If you do, I'll...I'll...I'LL GIVE YOU A COOKIE! :D And hey, who doesn't like cookies. xD :D  
Anyway, see you guys later! :D**


	8. Searching For Beauty

**Here's the new chapter! This is told in the perspective of the girl tribute, for the fourth day of reaping. This is a little bit about her back story. The next few coming chapters will have the boy who get's reaped on day four's back story. And both the tributes will eventually get reaped. c:  
Anyway, feel free to leave me a review! Like I said last chapter, I don't have teeth like Enobaria's, so I promise that I won't bite...too hard. xD c:  
Now, without further adieu: here's chapter seven: **

Chapter Seven: Searching for Beauty  
Point Of View: Yevette Flood: Thoughts before the reaping

I don't understand the rules of this city. They only make sense to the writer's who wrote them on that one fateful day. The fateful day that we were all hearded up like cattle, and pushed into this little place to stay. The people stare at the city borders like livestock wishing to break free. They know that if they stay here, something terrible is to bound to happen to them eventually. And yet, they cannot leave. Their inability to part with this landscape has nothing to do with any sort of sentimental ties to this area, or fear of the unknown. No, it's because of the rules set in place. The rules written down on slips of paper, that helped to pave the walkways, of this sad crumbling city. Made of stones carved with sadness, and anger.

I hate this place. I hate this place.

I hate all these sad tall fences. The fences which are always so ablaze, with strong, sharp electricity. So sharp that you'd be happy to die quickly after it shocked you once. If you don't wish to die from electrical burns, or electrocution, you mind your business and stay away from the city fence. These city fences are strong, and are good at their art. They keep us- the people inside these sad are pent-up in this crowded den, just like livestock just waiting to be slaughtered. The fences, and rules keep the beauty out of this dreary city. Or, well, perhaps I shouldn't be so quick to praise the handiwork of the rules, and fences. For, I know for certain that they do their job all to well in the part of town that I live in. But, what about the other parts? Who knows. It's not like I've been there before. I've not the looks, guts, nor bravery to show my face in the more wealthy parts of this city. Not when I live in the most poverty-stricken hated area of it.

Where I live, beauty is strictly prohibited. It's rare to see even a glimpse of it at all. Sometimes, I'll see just a little shard of it, as I walk home from the store. Like, when I see someone helping someone else carry their groceries to their car. Even if they have no food, no money for groceries, or cars of their own. I see shards of beauty, in the way that the children secretly giggle and play on the sidewalks. The way they laugh, and forget the pain of everyday life here is just a small reminder that maybe somewhere out there, there is some form of beauty.

But, wherever that beauty is- if it exists at all. It's not here.

I pity the citizens who walk around me in the crowds, acting as if they see nothing. Women with their hair just barely parted, and hanging down limp on their backs. Men, with their ties barely strapped on tight enough, and falling apart at the seams. I wonder how'd they'd react if I were to just run up to them, and tell them my secret. My secret, that I know, that somewhere out there there is something beautiful! We just can't see it here in this town- well actually we can. We're just not supposed to see it. But, I've seen it! I go out, and see it every day, and every night. Even if it is against the rules, I don't care. Just for one day, I want to feel like there is more to this town than the angry masses of people, and the unhappy cries of hungry children. I just want to feel like somewhere, somehow, hope and joy do still exist.

Every morning, and night I break the rules of the curfew. I sneak out in the wee hours of the morning. The world outside is still painted in dark colors, from the dawn hiding inside it. I can slip outside of my house unnoticed, and creep away from my lawn. I walk in the streets, avoiding the street lights, and hiding from the cameras, so that they cannot see me. I know where they patrol every night, the mockingjay men, and women. And over time I've learned to avoid them. It took a lot of work, and self-training to train myself to be so sneaky. I've had more than my fair share of extremely close calls. And, it's a miracle that I haven't been caught yet.

There's a certain thrill that comes with breaking the rules. When you first commit the crime you feel scared, and shake-y. You feel nervous, and uncertain. Your mind gets crowded up with a whole bunch of "What if's", and "What now's", that you can hardly think, or breathe. Your fear overwhelms you, and wants to pull you back into your safe place. Back to wherever you felt safe. You can give into those feelings of uncertainty, and fear. Or, you can keep going. And, if you keep going on, despite your fear. You realize that- hey, this isn't so bad, I'm actually doing it. I'm doing something completely, and utterly stupid, and mental. But, you know what? That's okay, because I'm having fun with it. You feel gutsy, and brave. Fearless, and reckless. Suddenly you've transformed into some sort of beautiful, purely invincible bird. And, you know what? Feeling invincible is a pretty cool feeling to feel.

But, I don't break rules just to break them. Being so reckless, as to that you approach the fine line that separates bravery, and stupidity isn't something you should do too often. It's okay to feel such a thrill like that, every once and awhile. But doing it oh ever so often, is just testing your luck too much. No, I actually have a very distinct purpose for sneaking out of my house every morning, and every night.

My purpose, is that I go, and visit him. I don't think that I could go a single day without seeing him at least once.

Some nights, we just sit there, and talk for hours. We laugh, and make up stories. And talk about our dreams, and our hopes for the future. We speak about things that bother me, and he gives me the absolute best advice for dealing with such adversaries. Overall, he's just really a good listener. And, I don't know how I could ever not see him. Because, I miss him so much during the day time, that sometimes it just hurts.

Every night after the sun has set, and every morning before it rises. I sneak out of our house. I experience the feel of thrill, and excitement as I avoid the places where I know the Mockingjay men, and women are not patrolling at the moment. And I sneak through there, and I eventually make my way to the graveyard.

The graveyard is where, I sit against my Dad's grave, and just talk to him. During the night, I tell him about my day. And, in the morning I tell him about the day to come. He listens to me- he's the best listener anybody could ask for. He doesn't ever interrupt me, and he gives me the best advice. The graveyard is the only part of this dreary city that I like. Because it is where my Dad is. And, when I am with my Dad I am at home. I am at home, and I am at peace with myself. There is nothing for me to worry about when I am with him. When I am with him, I can experience a reprieve from the stress of everyday life. There I am free to just well...be, just for awhile. I can just be still, and I can just be calm. And I don't have to worry about anything at all.

I don't have to worry about things like Mom, Zophie, Sebastian, Ruben, Maxwell, or my step-dad.

The five people who are my family, are who I worry about the most.

My father passed away four years ago. I was eleven at the time. My brothers were also still children at the time. Ruben was nine, Maxwell was thirteen, and Sebastian was the same age as I am now-fifteen. I can still recall every single detail about the day that he died. I remember all of it. Being called out of class, my neighbor kindly coming to my school to drive us all home. Walking into the house to find my mother sitting motionless upon our sofa, and crying her eyes out. I don't like remembering that day, so I don't if I can help it. But, just like any life-altering memory, sometimes it comes up. And the sadness will resurface for a few minutes, before just knocking me out, and making me feel numb. Since that fateful day, everything in my life has changed. And is still changing. Some days I hardly recognize the life that I have now in the mirror. It has changed so much in the past four years, that sometime my life before my father's passing, just feels like a dream to me.

My father, and I; we were close. Just so close. He was amazing. The absolute best-est every father that a girl could ask for. He, and I we were close. So close, that I don't even what words I could use to describe it.

My mother and I- well, we used to be close too. My whole family actually was a pretty tight-knit group. Ruben, Maxwell, Sebastian, and me- Yevette. All the siblings got along perfectly We had good relationships with our parents. We had a nice enough house. We had plenty of friends at school, and none of our grades were too bad. They weren't perfect, but they weren't terrible. Back then life was like a dream. I had the perfect greeting card family. I was the perfect child- I had friends, I actually tried in school, and I even treated my elders with respect. I had the perfect life. Everything was perfect.

Until that fateful day, that everything changed.

A mere year after my Dad's passing, my mother got remarried. She married my step Dad- a man whom I address as Paul. At first, it was sort of hard for me to get used to Paul. We had a rough start, but eventually Paul, and I learned to get along. Paul only had one child from his previous marriage a then six-year-old, now nine-year-old daughter named Zophie. Up until last year, Zophie lived with her Mother full time. She only came down to visit us on a few select weekends. But, Paul, and my older brother Sebastian- he's nineteen, have both left to work in the districts for awhile. They're still considered citizens of capitol city, but they've been given permission to leave for a bit. Zophie's Mom was also given permission to leave the city too (She is working in the districts as well.). So, Zophie has to live with me, my mom, and my brothers for awhile.

Why I worry about Zophie so much is because, my mother is never very nice to her. She tells Zophie that she wishes that she didn't have to come here, and that she should just leave this family alone, and go be with someone else. My brothers Ruben, and Maxwell treat Zophie cruel as well. They tell Zophie that they wish she wasn't around. My older brother Sebastian has always been kind to her- he says that she is still his sister, even if they are step-siblings. And, I like Zophie as well. She's a fun-loving, cheer-y child. I wish that she could be treated more fairly. But, with Sebastian gone, I'm the only one left to look after her. And, well that sort of makes me angry, I guess.

A lot of things make me angry.

Anger. It's the only emotion that I can sometimes feel. I'm angry that my perfect family, has fallen apart. I'm angry at the Mockingjay men, and women for numerous, various reasons. I'm angry at some of the kids at my school, which is why I pick fights with them. I'm angry at my Mom, for never giving Zophie a chance. I'm angry at Paul, and Sebastian for leaving her here- even if it isn't their fault, and they had no choice but to leave her here.

But most of all, I am angry with this town.

This town, where the people search for beauty, in the places where it never grows. I live in the part of the city, reserved for those of us who are related to the old peace keepers. The Mockingjay men, and women don't trust us. We live in our own little cornered off area of capitol city. We have extra rules, and we have a curfew here. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.

I especially hate it, when reaping day rolls around.

It's the only day that the Mockingjay Men, and women give us a little bit of extra peace, and don't breathe down our necks as much. As the children exit our little cornered off area of the city. They look at us as if we are cattle, just waiting to be slaughtered.

I'm fifteen, so this is my fourth year in the reaping. I have a few extra slips in for tessarae. So, I do have a slightly higher chance of getting picked than the other people who are related to the old peace keepers do. Even if the pool of possible people to be reaped is smaller, I still highly doubt that I am going to be picked. It just doesn't seem like a very probable outcome.

When the summer morning greets me, with a wave of heat in the face. I realize that today is the fourth day of the reaping. This is one of the days that I can potentially be reaped, the day actually, where my chances of being reaped are the highest. I've been awake for hours, since I just got back from visiting my Dad not that long ago. However, I've been lying in my bed, pretending to be asleep, so that I don't arise any suspicions from my mother. When the morning sun begins to become slightly annoying bring as it peeks through my windows, I glance at the clock and decide that now is a good time to officially get up. I stretch my arms out, and up above my head. Before softly padding out of my bed, and over to a small, somewhat cracked mirror that I have in the corner of my room. It is there, that I begin to brush out my medium-length glossy black hair. Apparently my ancestors originated from the old continent of Asia. Well, before it was destroyed along with the rest of the world. It was a continent that existed, long, long before the first rebellion, and even before Panem. But, that is where my ancestry is from. My hair is a dark black, and my eyes are a dark brown. I'm tall for my age, but not too overly tall. My body is that of an athletic build. I am stronger than most of the girls in my class, which comes in handy sometimes during our physical education classes. But, even so, I don't think that I am all that pretty. I mean, I'm not ugly. I'm pretty decent looking. Just average, I suppose. Nothing extraordinarily special, or beautiful, but definitely not ugly. Just plain old...average.

After brushing out my hair, and putting it into a nicer hairstyle than I'm used to normally wearing. I head on over to my closet, to get out my reaping clothes. My family doesn't own a lot of clothes. We don't exactly have enough money for them. With the money that Zophie's Mom (She sends it to our family as a whole, since we are taking care of Zophie...), my Dad, and Sebastian send back to us from the Districts we are lucky enough to be able to have enough food on the table every day. We eat well, and plenty in this house. Of course, it's not as well as some of the people in the richer parts of the town eat, or even close to how they eat in the districts. But my family is nowhere close to starving. So, all things considered, we're actually pretty well off.

The clothing that I am wearing though, well it is from a charity. It was donated to us. There is a small, little charity in town, where people can donate their old clothing. The donated clothing goes off to the people who have trouble affording enough. My family just happened to be eligible to receive some of the clothing from the box. There usually isn't a lot in there. For, most of the people in this city are poor. Some stuff usually gets sent over from the districts, but not much. I don't know where my skirt, and shirt came from. But, I have something to wear to the reaping. And that's all that matters.

Once I'm dressed, and looking somewhat decent. I head downstairs to scarf down a quick breakfast. When I'm done eating, my dark colored eyes fly to the clock to check the time. We have to leave soon. I call my thirteen-year-old brother Ruben, and my seventeen-year-old brother Maxwell down. Telling them that we have to go, if we want to be able to check into the reaping before the rush. They come into the kitchen, and get ready to leave. My mother will join us at the reaping later, she doesn't need to check in because she's not being reaped (But she still does have to attend the reapings, everyone in Capitol city a too. It's the law. ) because, well, she's an adult. Zophie comes up next to me, and laces her fingers through my hand. She doesn't want to be left alone in the house with my Mom. Though, they will have to stand together at the reapings when my Mom does come. My mother kisses Ruben, Maxwell, and I good-bye. Telling us that she'll see us after the reaping. Before all four of us kids get out the door, and leave the house. Walking in the direction of the closest town square.

Maxwell, and Ruben see some of the boys from the neighborhood heading to the reaping Jogging ahead, they catch up to them. It's just me, and Zophie walking together now. Zophie is too young to be reaped, she's only nine, so she has three more years. Her first year of being eligible for the reaping, will be the same year as my last year of eligibility to be reaped.

Zophie, and I walk in silence for a few moments. Her small fingers laced around mine. When suddenly, she looks up, and quietly asks me: "Hey Yevette?" She says, her eyes and voice both reflecting the sort of innocence that only children are capable of possessing.

"Yeah?" I ask her, as we continue walking to the nearest time square. We live a little ways from it. So the walk isn't short, but it's not extremely long either. I watch as Maxwell, and Ruben's silhouette's shove the other boys in the group around. The group of neighborhood boys, all messing around and playing with one another. It also makes this place seem like a perfectly normal city.

"What's gonna happen if you, Maxwell, or Ruben get reaped?" She asks me. For a moment, I slow my pace and look down at her. Her eyes are full of knowledge that not even I was aware that she knew yet in her young age. Oh, why did she have to have such a grasp on what the Hunger Games were about at this young age? It only wrecked a small part of her innocence. Sure, she needed to know. But, how much she needed to know, I wasn't sure. Maxwell, and Ruben had probably fed her a few scary, non-age appropriate stories about the game just to scare her.

"Absolutely nothing will happen- do you wanna know why?" I ask her, as a slightly confused expression crawls across her face. She gives me a strange look of bewilderment. She wants to know how I can be so certain, even when she does not feel like she can be certain. Grinning a bit, I squeeze her hand, and say: "I know that because, not a single one of us are going to get picked. Not me, or Maxwell, or Ruben."

She looks at me like she is thinking long, and hard about something. Her face is contorted in such a mix of concentration, that she seems so much older than nine. Especially when she asks me, in a voice that says she is trying to figure all these confusing answers that I am sending her way out, she says: "But, how do you know you, Maxwell, or Ruben won't be picked? The reaping is random! Anybody could get picked, that one lady with the brightly colored hair always reaches into those big glass bowls and pulls out a name- a random name! So, you can never be sure!"

"I know that none of us are going to get picked, because inside that reaping bowl, there are hundreds of little, teeny, tiny slips of paper. And Maxwell, Ruben, and I's names are only on a small, select few of them. Have they taught you about probability in school yet, if they have, then think of it like this- the probability of either Maxwell, Ruben, or me getting picked to compete in the hunger games is really low, alright?" I ask her. I don't know what she knows about probability- when did they cover that in schools nowadays anyways? So, I don't know how much of my analogy soaked in. But, even if she didn't understand it, I think my tone got the point across. I am positive that neither Ruben, Maxwell, or myself are going to be drawn during the reaping. It is just way too unlikely. Eventually, Zophie accepts my answer, and doesn't bring up the question again.

It's unlikely. Highly unlikely, that any of us would ever get picked. So, I'm not worried about it. Not worried about it at all. I mean, why should I be? Even if life here is lacking in splendor, and beauty. It's not like I'd ever get chosen to be in the Hunger Games. Call me vain for continually thinking about myself so many times here- but it's true. Even with the amount of Tesserae that I have taken out this year, the odds are still ever in my favor- they're in everybody's favor right? Eventually Zophie, and I get to the town square where today's reaping is going to take place. Zophie and I chat, and play around as we wait for my Mom to eventually show up. There is absolutely no way that I'm just going to leave a little nine-year-old girl alone in this crowd, while we wait for my Mom to show up, and take her! Even if it was pointless of me to come over now, when I'm not signing in yet, Zophie and I just like going on walks and speandoing time together. And walking to the reaping was the perfect time to take a walk.

But back to the things about the odds being in my favor. The odds are in my favor. I'm not going to get picked to play in the Hunger Games. That idea is just so...so...so, so illogical and absurd. Me, get picked to play in the Hunger Games? No way.

If I'm so sure that I'm not going to get picked...then why am I trying so hard to convince myself that I'm not going to get picked?

* * *

**So that's it! Be sure to leave me a review! Tell me anything you like. Like, maybe even who's your favorite tribute so far? Is it Lacey, Collin, Daffodil, Christoph, Braelynne, Phineas, or even Yevette? I guess Kallista, and Brogan could be added to that question, even if they haven't been formally introduced yet. So anyway yeah...tell me anything. c:**  
**Anyway, please review if you want too! And thank you so much for reading! See you guys soon! :D**


	9. Family

**Hey guys, here's chapter eight! This chapter is told in the point of view of Brogan! Part two of the Prologue was told in Brogan's point of view. c: So, yeah. He's back, and here are his final thoughts before the reaping. Reaping day four will take place next chapter! :D Anyway, thank you guys so much for reading this far! It really means a lot to me, whenever anybody reads any of my stuff. c:  
Oh, and I know that every single fanfic ever written says this, but please feel free to leave me a review! I'll love you forever, and ever, and ever, and ever if you do! :D  
Anyway, without further ado, here is chapter eight! **

Chapter Eight: Family  
Point Of View: Brogan Weeks: Thoughts before the Reaping

I don't understand why people give cemeteries such a bad reputation. Sure, they're one of the most perfect locations for a horror novel to take place. But, the works of fiction written by the hand of man, shouldn't scare people enough to stay away from them. But, somehow it does. Which us why cemeteries have gained such a bad reputation. Because in the eyes of your average citizen. The cemetery is a creepy, scary, and probably haunted landscape. Maybe that's why I got all those weird looks in school, the other day. When I said that I thought cemeteries were one of the most peaceful places on this earth.

It's true. Cemeteries are peaceful, just like the people in them. The inhabitants of a cemetery are resting in peace. They're not going to suddenly rise up out of the ground, and wrap their hands around your ankles. No matter how many times you do, or don't read scary stories. Cemeteries are still with the quiet, that only peace can produce. They are an extreme rarity, for they produce actual still, and calming peace.

Such peace is a rarity in this city. That is, if it even exists at all anymore. Peace is the ever-lost source searched for by the citizens of this city. And, we've yet to find it. For, Peace is too fast for us to catch. It scampers off the loud city streets, before anybody can enjoy it. This city is loud, and rough. It makes Peace be hard to come by.

When I refer to Peace. I'm not just referring to the meaning of the word, which means "Calmness." While sitting in the still, yet pure bliss of silence, had become a sort of underrated luxury in this town. I'm also referring to the other meanings. Like whenever I can walk home from school, and not have to witness a fight break out on the street corners. The people here are unhappy. They are restless, and angry. Like wild animals cooped up in a cage all the time. There are no new places to go. There is nothing to explore. There are no positive feelings here. The only emotion that exists within in these city walls, is hurt. This kind of hurt, is a special kind of hurt. It's the same kind of hurt that this city twas built upon.

That's why the cemetery is my favorite place. It's my kind of place. It's peaceful, and wholesome. There are no crowds of loud hustling, bustling people. There are no fights that break out on street corners, during my long trek home from school. Here, I am invincible. I am the king of this sanctuary. Nothing here can hurt me. The pain of this city cannot taint me.

Maybe it's weird to enjoy sitting around, and reading in a cemetery, as much as I do. But, even while I do love the cemetery (As if I haven't stressed that enough, by now...) I must confess, that I have a bit of a bias towards the place. You see, my family owns this cemetery. The ownership travels down through our family line. And it's up keeping, and care is currently entrusted within the palms of my parents. Them, myself, and my eight other siblings- we take care of the cemetery. We watch over it with pride, for it is our one and only place. To actually experience some real peace.

Ever since my mother was a child, she's lived at the cemetery. Her line, is the family line that it draws down on. My mother's line of family cared for the old capitol's cemetery. Way back before, the second rebellion. Before we started to be called "Capitol City". And Panem's governmental system was basically flip-flopped. A lot of people still remember the old days. Back, when the capitol was in charge. But, my generation? We don't. We can only fathom, at how long ago that was. And ask questions about the history of Capitol City, in class. I also ask about the old Peacekeepers. Because, my father's parents were Peacekeepers before the second rebellion took place.

My mother, and father have nine children. I am the oldest, their first son. Currently residing at age sixteen. The next oldest, is my little sister Ruby. Fourteen-year-old Ruby, and thirteen-year-old Sayla are often mistaken as twins. Though in reality, they were born exactly one year apart from one another. Their round faces, and long wisps of bright blonde hair, tied back in a ponytail that sits comfortably on their shoulders, is nearly identical. Despite their similarity in looks, and age, the two girls have also found companionship in one another. The two of them share such a magnificent bond. That, even I sometimes feel a tad bit jealous of it.

Next in line, is Johnathon. He is ten-years-old, and is sick of being told that he looks like a slightly smaller version of me. While strangers, and peers point out our resemblance, from time to time. I have difficulty seeing it. We have the same bright blue eyes, and ordinary brown hair. But, the resemblance stops there. For, young Johnathon has never been one to sit still. He's constantly up, and about. Moving to "This place", and "That place". He refuses to sit still. His creativity is always intact, when he thinks up new games for him and his friends to play at recess, during school. While our appearances are quite a bit alike. Johnathon is practically the opposite of me at that age. While, I did enjoy moving, and running around. (And still do- nothing beats going on a nice, long jog, on a cool summer morning.) Unlike Johnathon, I've always been a bit more "Academically Oriented". The mechanics of math, and discoveries of science fascinate me. But, perhaps not as much as the fine art of theater does. I've always found acting to be a sort of escape from the real world. It's nice being able to step into someone else's shoes. Even if they are a fictional character. While perhaps Johnathon, and I share a love of using our imaginations. Johnathon has always been more into competitive sports than I am. He's a fairly good athlete for his young age.

The youngest children after Johnathon are Peter, and Jessa. Peter is eight-years-old, and is getting taller every day. Everyone in my family is fairly tall, I suppose. But, Peter is practically a giant next to the other kids his age. Despite this, he is still infused with the gentle innocence of youth. He's perhaps one of the most gentle souls I've met. I highly doubt he could even hurt a fly. Jessa, age seven, on the other hand would probably feel no shame in hurting a fly. She's rough, and hyper when she plays with her friends. While both Peter, and Jessa are still young. Their innocence is slowly fading. Unlike in previous years, when they wondered about what exactly went on during the Hunger Games. They are now able to understand the hostility of the games, a bit more.

It's sad really, because they are just kids. The mind of a child is innocent. It can filter out some aspects of pain, and torture. For their lack of maturity make sit difficult to understand what the emotion of pain actually is. As children mature that filter of immaturity grows weaker, and weaker yet. Until one day understanding just comes and smacks you in the face. Children begin to question why such immoral things happen in the world. And, you have to confess to them that you bare them no answer to their inquiries.

The three youngest children in my family often function as a trio. Alifie is six, Bradley is five, and Tanya is four. The three of them enjoy playing together. It's not uncommon to hear the three of them playing around in the living room, pretending to be dragons, magicians, and knights. They chase after each other, and play out their make believe stories with joy. As they slowly relinquish themselves to their imaginations, and let their stories come to life.

My large family, and I live in the reserved section of town that is reserved for people descended from citizens who used to be part of the old government of Panem. Inside this little reserved space, is another reserved space, where those of us related to the old peacekeepers live. Us, and the descendants of President Snow are typically some of the most hated tributes in the Hunger Games. When Slaughter- I mean, game season rolls around the streets here are haunted. We watch our tributes on TV, knowing that we cannot think much for their future. The districts seem to hold a bit of a grudge against us. Our sponsor money is rare, if there even is any at all.

I don't wish to sound pessimistic, but I hate this town. The Mockingjay men, and women don't trust us. The families that live here rarely stay together. The essence of peace has since vanished from this place. And I know that in many ways, I am lucky. I am lucky to have a roof over my head, and a strong-knit family that will support me. I really don't know what I'd do without my family. They are my support system, the people I go to when I need help. I have no idea what I would do without them.

But, even if my family, and I are close. I know that not everyone has as nice of a home life, as I do.

There is actually this girl. She comes to the cemetery every night, and every morning. I don't know her, we've never spoken. But, I can vaguely make out her figure through our living room window. And if I were to walk into my back yard, I can kind of hear her voice. I don't confront her, for even if sneaking around after curfew is against the Peacekeeper's rules. She doesn't seem to be doing anything wrong. She just sits there, and talks to a certain grave stone. I don't know what she is saying, but I can often make out the word: "Dad".

It's not exactly my business, why she comes to the cemetery in secret, so often. But, I can't help but wonder why she does.

Perhaps, she will be at the reaping tomorrow. A mysterious girl, that I don't know. I probably wouldn't recognize her, if I saw her. However, Sayla, Ruby, and I will be at the reaping tomorrow. The three of us will stand in the crowd. We will be separated by our gender, and age. But, we will all still be staring at the exact same stage. Watching silently, as yet another child's life is destroyed. It's a yearly routine, that we all must put up with. Watching the suffering of those who are called. I've never been nervous about being called. From a probability stand point, neither I, Sayla, or Ruby have a very high chance of being reaped.

I have nothing to worry about. Everything is going to be fine.

* * *

**This chapter was difficult to write. It's not the best I've ever written, but Brogan is hard to write for. Anyway, don't be afraid to leave me a review. :D I appreciate every single one that I get! :D**


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